


To Run, To Chase

by Jael_Lyn



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:57:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael_Lyn/pseuds/Jael_Lyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim runs into a crime, literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Run, To Chase

Jim checked his watch. It had been a long time since he'd squeezed a real training run into his busy schedule. Working out at the gym was fine, but there was no substitute for some road running when it came to endurance.

Besides, it was a pleasure to run in this weather. Typically, he ran in the early morning, bundled up against the perpetual Cascade damp. It was true freedom to run at mid-afternoon on a day off on a bright day, stripped down to shorts and a tank top, with the sweat evaporating into the hot air. His muscles were loose and he felt strong. Glorious.

He picked up his pace. Even though he was breathing hard, he felt fast, and the opportunity was too good to waste. Not enough days off and not enough sunny weather in good old Cascade, Washington. He'd driven out to the greenbelt for his run, planning on taking advantage of the natural setting. Compared to pounding the asphalt close to the loft - well, there was no comparison.

One of the many rural county roads came into view on his left, and he abruptly cut across the grass. He hadn't planned on adding so many extra miles today, but he wasn't ready to head back. He slowed his pace momentarily to check for traffic, more out of habit than necessity. There was very little traffic this far out of Cascade proper. A few long strides had him across and back on pace.

He'd been on this road with Sandburg. He couldn't exactly remember why they'd driven out here, but he did remember Blair's gleeful laughter. Sometime in the past, county planners had set this area aside for minimal development, and the original road had never been improved. Instead of a boring thoroughfare, it went over a whole series of low hills exactly as nature had laid them down. If you took them at just the right speed, it gave the motorist a roller coaster effect. True to his little kid enthusiasm, his partner had insisted they go back to town the same way. Jim had hit all eight or nine of them at the maximum legal speed, sending the old blue truck soaring. It had been just like Sandburg to make a game out of an ordinary drive.

He could see the first rise in the distance. Outstanding. Hills would be a good workout. If he had to deal with sore muscles tomorrow, so be it. No pain, no gain. He could reward himself with a nice cold beer and a steak when he got back to the loft.

He ran in the loose gravel along the roadbed. He should probably cross to the proper side, running into oncoming traffic, but the shoulder was much wider on this side of the road, and he felt safer. It wasn't on his to-do list to get mowed down by an inattentive motorist. He tuned up his hearing just in case any traffic came his way. The greenbelt was out of town, and this rural road really didn't see that much use. A mixture of alder and evergreens threw shadows across the roadway, giving him patches of cool relief as he ran. He was aware of small animals and birds rustling nearby, and if he stretched, the sound of noisy children riding bikes back on the greenbelt.

He was toiling up first hill before he heard or saw a vehicle. It was coming towards him in the other lane. The unremarkable pickup sped by, way above the speed limit. Jim swore under his breath. Not only was the guy speeding, he wasn't even watching the road! Jim's head snapped around to watch. The driver was rooting around on the seat apparently looking for something, blazing along about thirty miles an hour over the speed limit. Jim kept running, shaking his head. He might be running on the wrong side, but he was grateful not to be just a few feet from that vehicle.

Dismissing the situation as a lost cause, he tried to concentrate on his running, toiling up the next rise. It was too great a day to waste on an idiot driver. He refocused his senses, determined to enjoy the setting. To his irritation, instead of birds and children, his hearing picked up the sound of grinding gears. The hill cut off his view, but Jim was pretty sure the truck was pulling to a stop.

Tuning out the slap of his running shoes, Jim paid attention. He might as well make the best of the irritating distraction. This was exactly the sort of sensory exercise Sandburg was always trying to get him to do. If he could convince his friend he'd been diligent, maybe he could talk him into a football game on television tonight instead of some more educational selection. Sandburg was a fan, but he took a dim view of preseason football. A little leverage never hurt the bargaining process.

He heard the engine fade to a stop. With a little extra effort, he could hear the door open and a few steps on the lose gravel of the shoulder, followed by some unidentifiable rustling and thumping. Not wanting to stop, he was quickly running out of his range of hearing. Just what Sandburg would approve of, pushing his abilities right up to the limit. In any case, Jim was pretty pleased with himself and his own little sensory experiment. He was ready to give himself back to the enjoyment of the run when he heard the door slam, and the engine fire up.

He realized the truck was heading back in his direction. He angled way off the gravel shoulder long before the truck passed him. He came to a stop, practically buried in some shrubbery. The road was narrow and he didn't have any desire to be up close and personal with a pickup bumper driven by an idiot. Kind of a funny place for someone to make a u-turn, but maybe the guy had forgotten something. Just as a lark, he dialed up his vision, planning to track the driver until the next hill in the series cut off his line of vision. If the fool was going to speed in a rural zone, the least he could do is get the plate.

Jim's cop instincts flared as the vehicle went by. There was no logical explanation for it, just that hunch that every cop got now and then, when the scene wasn't quite right. It was hot, and now he noticed the male driver's dress - a long-sleeved dark sweatshirt and a stocking cap. Leather gloves rested on the steering wheel. More to Jim's concern, a long, dark object was now propped across the cab of the truck. At first Jim thought it was a rifle, but it was apparently a long pole or a plank. It hadn't been there before. Jim was certain of that. Anything that looked even vaguely like a firearm would have attracted his attention. The driver's sudden direction nagged at him. Why turn so abruptly? The movements seemed somehow furtive despite the broad daylight. And the object - why would someone stop to get a pole out of the back and then continue driving? 

The truck vanished over the hill. Jim picked up his pace, and chided himself. It wasn't as if he was really going to go in hot pursuit of a vehicle on foot. Still, the truck speed wasn't that fast when it doubled back, and it hadn't sped up when it disappeared from sight. At least that's the way the engine noise sounded to him. Jim strained up the hill, driven by an urgency he couldn't explain.

At the top of the hill, he concentrated on vision. In the distance, the truck was bearing down on another runner. A sports bra and a long pony tail swinging rhythmically told Jim she was female, and she was slogging up her own small hill, the next in the series. The driver of the truck had slowed down, and seemed to be timing the vehicle's speed to match the woman's. The window was down on the truck, and the long dark object was resting with one end on the window frame. As the woman crested the hill, the truck sped up and the pole shot out the window. Jim broke into a full sprint as the woman went sprawling, flattened by the impact as she was struck full across the back with the pole when the truck zipped by. She tumbled down the far side of the hill out of his view.

Jim focused all his efforts on covering the distance to the stricken woman. It stretched his concentration to monitor the situation ahead of him at the same time he pushed his body to maximum effort. He could hear the truck tires skidding to a stop in the loose gravel.

Jim cursed his fatigue. This was an assault, he was sure of it. How could it be anything else? He had a long distance to cover, and he couldn't drag enough air out of his lungs. Every step seemed too short and too slow. Relying on the only sense he had available, he cast his hearing ahead.

The squeak of the vehicle door as it opened.

He heard a soft moan from the woman, and a cry of pain. At least she was conscious. A few disconnected words as she tried to sort out her predicament. Shuffling in the gravel.

At the bottom of the hill Jim heard her try to scream. "Get away from me!" followed by sounds of a struggle. More choked gasps and the slap of an open hand. "Quit it, you bitch," a masculine voice growled. Jim powered up the hill with every ounce of remaining energy.

At the top of the hill, with vision restored, he realized she'd tumbled a long way down the slope. Her attacker had knotted a cord around one of her wrists and was wrestling to get a grip on the other. She struggled ineffectively, curling in on herself and kicking back at her attacker, trying to jerk the second wrist out of his grasp. Another slap stunned her and she flopped back to the ground. Quickly her attacker wrapped the cord around the other wrist.

He never saw Jim coming. He was totally focused on his victim. Jim tackled him just as he was hoisting his prisoner to carry her away. The impact knocked all three of them to the ground. Jim managed to roll away, taking the woman with him. Their adversary stared at him with shocked eyes. He made one move toward the two runners on the ground, then panicked and scrambled back towards the truck.

"Cascade PD! Freeze!" Jim managed to shout. He made it to his feet and clawed up the hill, making a desperate lunge at the fleeing man. He caught a booted foot in his bare thigh for his efforts, knocking him backwards. Determined to keep the guy from getting away, Jim threw himself at the retreating figure again, pinning him against the truck.

Off balance and winded, Jim wasn't prepared for the tire iron that came whistling through the air. He ducked and caught the crushing blow on the forearm, sparing his skull. A sickening crunch and blinding pain sent him to his knees. The fleeing assailant took another swing at Jim with the tire iron, clipping him on the forehead. Jim went down hard. The attacker made a mad dash around the pickup bed, jumped in the driver's side and gunned the engine. As blood streamed into Jim's eyes, the truck roared off.

"License!" Jim blurted out, unable to see past the curtain of red. He crawled toward the woman, too shaky to make it to his feet. She was still on the ground nearby, trying to use her bound hands to get out of the gravel. Her lip was split and a trickle of blood leaked from her nose. As he approached, she shied away. "Easy there," he said, giving her some space. "I'm a cop - are you okay?"

She broke into ragged sobs. "Oh, God. He was going to take me," she gasped.

"Did you get the plate?" Jim asked frantically. She finally pulled herself to her knees, and slumped against him. Her weight sent a stabbing pain through his injured arm. Another wave of dizziness swept over him, and he forced his attention back to his fellow victim.

She was shaking her head. "No. I'm sorry. It was covered with mud or something. The last number might have been a seven. Oh, it hurts," she wailed, still terrified.

"I'll get you loose. Turn towards me," Jim replied, trying to bring his voice back under control. His chest was still heaving from the long sprint and his head was spinning. He struggled to undo the knots. His hands fumbled and he still couldn't clear the blood from his eyes. He stopped and felt at the jagged tear in his skin that was bleeding profusely. "What's your name?" he muttered, trying to concentrate again on the knots. "Tell me where the pain is the worst."

"Deena...Deena Price. My ribs. I can't breathe. What happened?"

"He hit you from behind. Hold still." Jim's good hand ghosted gently across her back. "You might have a couple of cracked ribs to go with the bruises. Try to keep your breathing steady."

She stifled her sobs with some success. "Are you really a cop? Where did you come from?"

"I'm Detective Jim Ellison, and I was running, like you. He didn't know I was so close, or maybe he just missed seeing me altogether. I was pretty far off the road when he went by." Jim went silent, still trying to check her for injuries without spooking her completely.

"I couldn't get away," she sputtered. "Is he really gone?"

Jim took a moment to consider. "Yeah," he answered, still gently rubbing her shoulder, trying to reestablish calm. "No engine noise." Deena's breathing was evening out. "Do you think you can stand?"

She nodded, and he slid his good arm around her waist. Together they struggled to their feet. He couldn't stifle the groan as his injured arm dangled. "We're going to have to head back towards the greenbelt. Can you walk?"

"Yeah, if we go slow. What about your arm? And your head?" She touched the ragged wound delicately. "Can you take off your shirt? I can try to clean up your eyes."

"Can you help me get it off?" he asked. "My arm's pretty bad."

Having a task seemed to calm her. She tugged the singlet over the shoulder of his uninjured arm and eased the shirt over his head. That accomplished, she pulled the shirt down and off. Even her careful efforts had Jim struggling to keep the pain under control.

The shirt was damp with sweat, and it stung his eyes as she swiped at the blood. Another gush came from the wound, and Deena folded a section of the shirt and pressed it firmly against the gash. Jim felt the world tilt in crazy directions.

"Maybe we could tie it in place," she suggested. "At least we could keep the worst out of your eyes."

They sat back down, and she knotted the discarded cord to keep the fabric in place. "We didn't quite get the Lawrence of Arabia look," she said, smiling weakly. "It's not quite a headband, either."

"There goes my Best Dressed nomination," he joked back, appreciating her effort to put on a brave front. He had felt her hands shaking as she worked. "Do you have a cell phone.?" "I did." After a short search they found it, screen cracked and the phone lifeless. "Oh, no," she said. "You?" Jim shook his head. "Left it in my vehicle, and was too lazy to go back for it. We need to start walking, but it's going to be a team effort."

"You have a concussion, don't you?" she asked. "Maybe we should stay here."

"I think we're better off moving. You'll have to be the navigator." After a few halting starts, they headed back down the road, hoping desperately for a passing car to send for help. Neither one of them was capable of more than a slow shuffle.

They found a rhythm, but Jim silently cursed their lack of progress. Any chance of catching the guy was disappearing fast. If he had just been able to get units in pursuit right away...he pushed those thoughts aside.

"Stop, Deena." With his good arm around her waist, he could detect her discomfort. Jim had seen the whole gamut of assault victims, from catatonic to raging, and he had to credit how the young woman was holding things together. Even so, she was hurt, and there were physical limits. "We want to get out of here, but not by making your ribs and back worse. Hold a pace that doesn't make you breathe hard."

"Hate to tell you, but I think you're worse off," she said, moving at a slower pace. "Tell me your name again. I wasn't paying attention."

"Sorry. I can't imagine why. I'm Ellison, Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. I work in Major Crime. Don't have any ID on me."

"That's okay. You weren't with the other guy. That's all I care about. You could have been an alien invader and I would have been glad to see you."

Their conversation came in short bursts. Neither of them was doing too well, and just walking took a lot of concentration. Jim gradually realized that Deena was doing more to keep them on their course than he was.

"Do you want to go ahead without me?" he asked. "Could you go faster?"

"No way," Deena answered, tightening her own grip. "You may look like road kill, but I don't want to go solo." She snorted in disgust. "So much for my image as an independent female. I'm scared to death."

"You did great. You fought back, kept your head. And don't be hard on yourself. You have every right to be scared." The pain from his injured arm surged again, and the sunlight faded to gray. He fought his way back, trying to remember every trick Sandburg had ever taught him. He was having a real problem using his senses to control the pain. Zoning out was not an option. "Stop for a sec," he gasped.

"You want to sit down?" Deena asked.

"No - keep me up. I go down and I'm staying there. I just got light headed for a bit." They both paused while Jim brought the world right-side-up again.

"Sure, Detective. Just a little light headed. Not."

Jim peered at her through his blurred eyes. "You must be a student," he observed.

"I am, at Rainier. Why?"

He gave her a wry grin as they started walking again. "I recognize the type. You have the same smart mouth Blair does. He's a teaching fellow at Rainier. He's my roommate."

"Blair? Blair Sandburg? I know him. I took his class when I was a freshman." Another pause as they struggled on. "What happens now?" she asked in a wavering voice.

"We go back to the park, find someone who actually has a cell phone and get some backup and an ambulance. We get your statement and find that bastard. Did you recognize him?"

"Not at all. He had that cap pulled down low, and when he first came up he had one of those face things that go over your mouth and nose, like you wear skiing."

"I didn't see anything on his face," Jim replied, still forced to concentrate on each step. "To be honest, I didn't see his face very well period. I was either looking at his back or that damn tire iron. He still had the stocking cap on." He tried to push his headache aside. He needed to sort through his fleeting memories. Maybe Blair could help.

More steps. "I think I maybe pulled it off, the face thingy, but I never got another clear look at him." Deena said softly. "He hit me right about then."

Jim could sense her anxiety. At least she was trying. "Could you work with an artist? Sometimes witnesses see more than they think."

"I'll do anything you want me to do. I owe you, big time. I - he might have been about thirty. I didn't get the impression he was my age, and he wasn't old."

"What did he say? Anything?"

"I thought he was coming to help me. I expected him to take my hand and help me up." She stammered, tears threatening. "He grabbed my arm and pulled me into a head lock and I started to fight. He might have said 'got ya' or something. He called me a bitch. I know I bit him once, and maybe scratched his face."

"That's good," Jim encouraged. "Anything you can remember might help."

More steps. They stopped at the top of the next hill, winded and exhausted. Deena's breathing was coming in short pants. Jim tightened his grip slightly, trying to reassure her.

"It didn't seem so far coming out," she said between gasps.

"Do you run out here regularly?" Jim asked. It was still a fight to stay on his feet, and even with his senses dialed down his arm was killing him.

"Once or twice a week. I'm on the cross-country team at Ranier. I run all over."

"Often enough to make a routine?" he asked. She was calmer whenever he asked specific questions. He just had to think straight enough to ask the questions. "Like Tuesday and Thursday - something regular?"

"No, but usually I'm out here with the team, not alone." They started walking again. "Don't say it - it's not safe alone. I can't always find someone to run with. It's a reality of training. I have to."

Jim shook his head. "You sound just like Sandburg. He always has a good reason to put himself in jeopardy."

She accepted the scolding with grace, as if she'd heard it before. They stopped again when Jim weaved and she barely caught him.

"Why can't a car come!" she almost wailed. "Millions of stupid cars and we can't get a single one."

They were close to the top of another hill. "Someone's coming," Jim muttered. Deena shrank against him. At that moment a boy about twelve years old appeared from the other side, toting a skateboard. The poor kid jumped a foot when he took in the bowed and bloodied couple before him.

"What happened to you?" he finally blurted out.

"Nothing good, kid," Jim replied grimly. "I'm a cop, son. How far can you coast on that thing?"

"Long way," he answered with an edge of confidence in his young voice.

"Well, fire that thing up and head for the greenbelt. Find someone with a cell phone and have them call 911 to request an ambulance and backup. Tell them 'officer down'. My name's Detective Ellison. Can you remember?"

The kid gave him a lopsided grin. "That's okay, mister. You can use my phone." He gleefully dug in the pockets of his cargo shorts, finally retrieving a bright red phone. "Pretty cool, huh? My brother had to let me have it today because I didn't tell our mom he dented the bumper. You want me to show you how to use it?" he asked eagerly. Now that the shock of their appearance was over he was brimming with excitement.

Deena stifled a snicker and reached out for the phone, sparing Jim's injured arm. "That's okay. I think we can handle it." She glanced at Jim, punched in 911 and whispered over the ring, "Are there rules in the Detective's Handbook for these situations? Rescue by skateboard? Yes, I need to get an ambulance and police at..."

&&&&

"Can't you go faster, Simon? I thought they sent you guys to driving school or something before they made you a Captain."

"Sandburg, shut up!" snapped Simon. "Be thankful I stopped at the loft and picked you up at all." He slowed again behind someone making a left turn. "And there's nothing wrong with my driving!" he added with a growl. "You've just be driving with Ellison the Nascar wanna be too long."

Blair shut his mouth, staring intently at the road ahead of them. If the Volvo wasn't dead for the umpteenth time, he wouldn't have needed to wait for a ride from Simon. The radio crackled to life and Simon took the call, confirming that the ambulance was on its way to Cascade General and would be arriving shortly.

"Simon, please!" Blair sputtered. "Use the siren. If they actually got Jim into an ambulance instead of his own truck he could be half dead. I need to be there!"

"Oh, all right, Sandburg," Simon answered in an exasperated voice. "You do remember that I talked to him? He was well enough to insist that someone get out to the crime scene with a to-do list." He wrestled the flasher onto the dash. "A list that I had to copy verbatim, I might add. Then I have to chauffeur you to the hospital. I may as well be the hired help," he complained.

As the traffic parted, Blair settled back into his seat. At least they were moving a little faster now. His mind was already racing ahead to the nature of the injuries that had his friend riding in an ambulance. When they pulled into the hospital parking lot he was out in a flash, leaving Simon to park the car. His dash brought him to the Emergency entrance just as a young woman and a protesting Jim Ellison were being shepherded into wheelchairs.

"Jim! What happened?" Blair skidded to a stop. Even though Jim was doing a credible job of barking at the hospital staff, he was clearly not doing well. Blood seeped from under a fresh patch of gauze on his forehead, his arm splinted, and there was an oddly unfocused look in his eyes.

"Well, thank God," yelped one of the EMT's. "Sandburg, you take this ornery cop of yours in, and we'll take the pretty one. He complains about that chair one more time, I'm going to dump him on his head."

Blair knelt by the wheelchair and grinned up at the EMT, whom he recognized from his own most recent run to the ER. "He giving you a bad time, Gary?" Blair stayed crouched beside Jim's leg. Getting a good look at Jim's eyes could tell him a lot. Jim's glare softened, and a little of the tension eased with his partner's presence. "Bet you have a headache," Blair observed, keeping his voice low.

"Yeah, well, a tire iron will do that to you."

"O - kaay." Blair gave a quick wink to Gary, who took charge of the woman's wheel chair. "Take it easy, Jim. We'll let the doctors take a peek and try to get you out of here." He was willing to take Jim's weary snort as a complete answer.

Blair joined the parade. He noted that Jim's jaw had eased just a tad more. At least his presence was soothing. Sometimes it was hard to tell. Jim hated to admit when he needed help. Blair concentrated on Jim, but tried to get a glimpse of the occupant of the other wheelchair. She looked familiar, but Blair didn't spare the energy trying to place her. Jim was his first concern.

The nursing personnel shooed them into an examining room and didn't complain when Blair stayed to coax his passenger onto the examining table. By the time he had the admission forms and a pen he heard Simon's familiar voice. Blair melted into a nearby corner with the forms as Jim gave Simon the essentials. The more Jim talked, the more wound up he got. By the time the doctor arrived he was struggling into a sitting position.

"Don't even think about it, Detective! I'm Dr. Allen, and you're not going anywhere." The tall, dark haired man glared at Simon. "Are you official?"

"Captain Simon Banks, Major Crime." Simon snapped the notebook shut. "Police business can wait. I apologize, Doctor. I didn't realize my detective was making a break for freedom."

"Okay. You can stay." He noticed Blair, shifting noiselessly in the corner. "What about you? Are you family?"

"Blair Sandburg. I'm a civilian observer with Cascade PD. I'm also..."

"He's my partner and he stays," Jim said firmly. "Just clean up my head and check the arm."

"Wonderful," replied Dr. Allen wryly. "Not only do I have to work with an audience, you already have the diagnosis worked out. Why did I bother with medical school. The EMT's think you have a concussion. We should probably admit you overnight at least."

"No way," Jim started to protest. Simon and Blair exchanged glances, knowing full well how this was going to play out.

Allen interrupted Jim without missing a beat. "Well, humor me. I think I'll get an X-ray or two. Maybe even look at them before I cast your arm. How do you feel about a few stitches in that hard head of yours instead of quitting with a band-aid?"

Blair didn't miss the doctor's amused sarcasm. "Come on, Jim," he coaxed. "You know this is more than a drive-by. Give the man a break."

Jim acquiesced, still grumbling. Blair tried to divide his attention between the forms, answering Jim and monitoring the hospital staff. He was distracted with Jim's insurance numbers just long enough to miss the examination of Jim's pupils. He was jerked back to reality with Jim's yelp of pain. The penlight was flying across the room long before Blair was out of his chair to defuse the situation.

"Easy, Jim! Take it easy - close your eyes, man! He grabbed the flailing hand, and was surprised when the large hand gripped tightly around his own.

"What the Hell..." muttered the Dr. Allen.

"He's just got really sensitive eyes," Blair volunteered. It sounded lame, but he couldn't come up with Shakespeare on short notice every time.

"Sensitive or not, I think he's got more than a mild concussion." Allen answered skeptically. "Did you lose consciousness, Detective?"

"No," Jim snapped. "Look, just take care of the cast. Sandburg can do the rest."

"I don't do negligence," answered the doctor firmly, trying to put up a good front. He clearly wasn't pleased with his volatile patient. "We need to X-ray your arm, and based on your responses, my first choice would be to do an MRI. Are you having trouble remembering things? Any dizziness?"

"Will you quit wasting time and get this over with..." Jim protested hotly. He didn't finish the statement.

"Yes, he was dizzy, and he lost his balance, and his words were a little slurred." Deena Price, seated in a wheelchair at the doorway, returned Jim's baleful stare. "Don't try it with me, Detective. I'm the smart-mouthed student, remember?" She waved at Blair. "Hi, Mr. Sandburg. Anthro 101, three years ago." She turned her attention back to Jim's attending physician. "I don't care what he says to you at the moment, he almost collapsed a couple of times. I was there." Her eyes challenged Jim, daring him to contradict her. "Just because you are still awake doesn't mean you're in the right time zone. You saved my life, and I'm not about to let you walk out of here just so you can keel over with a head injury."

That was enough for the doctor. "Thank you, Miss. Get back in the wheel chair, Detective. We'll start with the arm X-rays and go from there." He turned his attention in Simon's direction, and then back to Jim. "You're on notice. I'll track down your superior officer if I have to. You're not doing the 'against medical advice' quick step." He smirked at Jim's offended look. "Sorry, Detective, your reputation precedes you." Simon merely nodded in agreement.

"Face the music, Jim," Blair teased. "You've been outflanked."

"Some help you guys are, Chief," Jim huffed, shaking off Blair's helping hand. A moment later he changed his mind and Blair had him by the elbow, barely keeping him up long enough to navigate the few steps to the wheel chair.

I know, Jim," Blair countered softly. "A true traitor to the cause and all that. You can make up a new rule after we're all done."

&&&&

"Mr. Sandburg..."

"Blair," he corrected.

"Okay, Blair," Deena answered. "You really don't have to take me home. I'm sure I can track down a ride."

"Deena, just get in the truck. The guys went to all the trouble to bring it over, we may as well use it."

"That's not the point, and you know it." She hung reluctantly near the ER entrance.

"No, the point is that if I don't take you home, Jim will try to do it himself. Let's not open that can of worms. He's giving everyone enough trouble as it is. It's best to leave him with Captain Banks. He's the only one who can give Jim a direct order." Blair saw her wince as they stepped off the curb.

"Could we stop for a second?" She wrapped her arms around her waist.

"Sure. Your ribs hurt don't they?" he asked. "Those hospital painkillers wear off pretty fast. We should have left sooner."

"Yeah. I guess. I could tell you needed to stay with Jim." She shook her head. "I run miles every day and now I can't even walk across the parking lot. This is so embarrassing."

"I'll go get the wheel chair. I should never have let you weasel out."

She grabbed his arm. "Please don't. My wounded pride can't take it."

"Now you sound just like Jim. How about we compromise?" Blair suggested. "You wait here and I'll bring the truck over."

She nodded, and even accepted Blair's help to scramble into the cab. She groaned even with the help.

"I've never hurt like this. This is horrible."

"I can sympathize," Blair answered as he hopped into the driver's seat. "I got shot in the chest on a case with Jim. Through Kevlar, of course," he added quickly, when Deena's eyes widened in shock. "I had my ribs taped and never wanted to move again. It will get better, but you really need to have someone come stay with you."

"My friend Amanda lives next door, and she gets off work soon. She'll come." They rode in silence for a few minutes. "Blair, I've got to ask. How did you end up working with a police detective? It doesn't seem very anthropological."

"I'm doing research on closed societies. I ride with Jim on an observer's pass to collect my data."

"But you live together?" she asked. "How did that happen? I apologize. That's really nosy, and it's none of my business. Can I blame it on the drugs?"

"Well, that was more of an accident, and you're not the first one to ask," Blair answered, sliding easily into the story of the exploding warehouse. At least it would keep her mind occupied until he got her home and settled. He hoped Simon would be able to eventually get Jim out of the hospital and back to the loft without incident.

&&&&

Jim tried to wheedle a return to the crime scene, but Simon had stepped in, using darkness and a host of other excuses. In true Captain fashion he transported Jim, his new bright yellow cast, aching head and sullen disposition back to the loft.

"Ellison, enough griping already! You're not going, and that's final. Be glad we sprang you from the hospital tonight instead of leaving you there."

"Simon, the trail will just get colder," Jim protested. He was leaning against the corner of the elevator for support and trying to hide it.

"I meant enough when I said it, Detective. Consider it an order. Brown and Rafe found the ski mask and the pipe or pole or whatever it was. There was no tread evidence because of the gravel. Serena's got every shred of forensic evidence there was and a vehicle search is running. THERE IS NOTHING ELSE TO DO." He paused as Jim fumbled with his keys one-handed.

"Oh, give me those. You can't even focus on the knob, much less open the door." He pushed the door open and pointed in the direction of the couch. "Sit down and don't move. I swear you're more trouble than raising a teenager. Actually, I think I just insulted my son."

Jim had the decency to look a bit guilty, at least for a few moments. "You don't have to stay, Simon. It was your weekend off, too. Blair will be back. He was going to make sure Deena was settled okay and track down the cross country coach, but that shouldn't take that long. Deena gave him the number, and she talked with the coach herself before they left." The frown on his face deepened. "At least I think she called. Maybe I should catch them at her apartment..."

"At least pretend to be the patient, Ellison!" Simon roared. He took a moment to calm down and continued in a calmer voice. "Jim, you may be my best detective, but you've got to stop. I don't trust you on this, and I'm staying. I can see the wheels turning from here. The minute I'm out of here you'll either be on the phone, hitching a ride back out to the greenbelt or ordering delivery to eat something that you're not supposed to have. I'll wait until your primary keeper comes back." Simon helped him ease back into the couch cushions. "At least Sandburg is a devious as you are. The two of you are evenly matched." He rolled his eyes in disgust. "God help me, I think I just admitted I need Sandburg. I'll go get some pillows to prop up your arm."

Jim's persistent headache didn't keep him from seeing the humor in that statement. "I promise not to tell Sandburg if you get me a WonderBurger," he called as Simon disappeared into Blair's room.

Simon dumped the pillows on Jim's lap and headed for the kitchen. He returned with two Tylenol and a glass of water. "Ha Ha. I'll ignore that feeble attempt at blackmail. Here, take your pills. The doctor said you could eat something light because you might be nauseous. Forget WonderBurger, pizza, beer and anything else you may actually like. I will bring you crackers, some soup, or both."

"Come on, Simon," Jim pleaded. "I've had a rough day."

"The offer is good for another 30 seconds. If you wait for Sandburg you'll probably get something botanical."

"You play dirty, sir. Forget the crackers and do a sandwich for both of us. There's roast beef in the fridge," Jim answered. He downed the Tylenol and leaned back into the couch. "Where were you when they put this cast on?" he said to Simon's retreating back. "What kind of a cast is this for a cop? I must not have been paying attention."

"No, you weren't," came the disembodied voice from the kitchen. "You were busy trying to talk them out of a cast at all."

"Well, I was right," groused Jim, smelling the mustard Simon had just opened. "The bone wasn't displaced or anything."

"Correction, the bone was crushed, Jim. You want cheese? There's some Swiss and some cheddar."

"Cheddar." Jim closed his eyes. His head hurt and going to sleep sounded wonderful.

Simon came back carrying two plates. He had two bottles of Gatorade under his arm. "Here. Eat. You have to promise to avoid strenuous physical activity to qualify for a splint. You had no chance of staying out of trouble that long. It's only six weeks. Besides, yellow is a cheerful color."

"Just what I need, cheerful," Jim grumbled through his first bite. "We have some guy running around assaulting women and I'm supposed to do cheerful."

&&&&

"Coach Keifer, thanks for seeing me this evening."

"No problem, Mr. Sandburg. Deena's too important to our team, and to me personally, for me not to honor her request. How is she?"

"Doing pretty well, considering the circumstances. She has a friend spending the night, and her older sister is coming up from Seattle tomorrow morning." Blair took the chair being offered. The adrenaline edge was wearing off, and he was tired. He wanted nothing more than to join Jim at the loft, but this was an important contact to make.

"What about her condition physically? Did that bastard - I mean - how far did he get?"

"Not very, but the intent was pretty clear. If Detective Ellison hadn't been there, she would have been tied up and taken away in a heartbeat. On that deserted stretch of road, no one would have been the wiser. As it is, she has some severe bruising on her back and they taped her ribs to make her more comfortable. Her face is a little bruised and her wrists were injured when he tried to tie her up."

"Dear God, what kind of a world do we live in?" The wiry, athletic man had pulled up another chair across from Blair. "Other than the basic information, why are we here, Mr. Sandburg?"

"In addition to my responsibilities at Rainier, I'm also a civilian observer with the Cascade Police department. I ride with Detective Ellison. Since they're trying to keep him down, at least for the evening, I'm making the initial contact with permission from Captain Banks, who's the commander for Major Crimes. The investigation has just started, but Detective Ellison is convinced the guy has done this before. The approach was too calculated, in his opinion, to be a random, one-time act. He'd like you to speak with your team, and other runners you may have contact with."

"Talk to them about what?" Keifer asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

"First of all, make sure no one runs alone."

"That's kind of tough. A lot of the kids do training runs on their own. Athletes like this are pretty driven, and they run outside of practice all the time."

"Deena said the same thing, but Detective Ellison feels they need to buddy up, and particularly not run alone in isolated areas. Maybe you could map out some specific training routes and discourage them from running at night. Work out some escorts or something. You could be a big help, Coach."

"Okay," he answered a little doubtfully. "I'll see what I can do. What else?"

"Talk to your team, and anyone else who runs. See if anyone has had a brush with this guy before, or seen anyone suspicious. The PD can use any leads you can generate, no matter how flimsy. This guy needs to be locked up and fast."

"I don't know, Mr. Sandburg. I hate to scare them like that. They'll be jumping at every shadow."

Blair barely kept himself from screaming. They needed this man's cooperation. "Coach, with all due respect, could you live with it if another one of your runners disappears or is injured? Is protecting them from anxiety really worth that risk?"

That strike hit home. Keifer's scowl made it clear that his worry included a bit of irritation. "What makes the police department so sure that my girls know anything?"

"Please, Coach. A lot of leads in an investigation come from people who aren't aware that what they know is important. Unless you ask, we'll never know whether they have helpful information or not. Detective Ellison would like to meet with them as soon as you can set up a time. Maybe before practice tomorrow?" he suggested hopefully.

Keifer reluctantly agreed, and the conversation ended politely enough. Blair left Jim's card along with Captain Banks'. As Blair walked out of the Rainier Athletic Training Facility he could only hope that Deena wasn't shy about sharing her experiences when she saw her teammates. He was sure Keifer would only cooperate up to a point.

Blair spent an anxious moment waiting for the engine to turn over before he remembered he was driving the truck instead of the Volvo. Sweetheart might look ugly but what it lacked in style it made up for in reliability. The short drive back to the loft was spent scheming, knowing all too well what Jim's priorities would be. How could they get the word out to people who might be at risk? How would they ever get a lead?

&&&&

Blair cracked the door to loft open as gently as he could. Simon was sitting on the couch reading a magazine. Guessing that Jim was upstairs, Blair waved and shut the door softly.

"How is he?"

"Mr. Congeniality," Simon answered sarcastically. "He ate, and I herded him upstairs. I managed to get him out of his clothes and into some sweat pants and a T shirt."

"Jim accepted help dressing? Did you threaten to fire him or something?"

Simon chuckled. "Damn near, but the frustration finally got to him and he gave in. The way they set his arm his hand is pretty useless. I had to cut the sleeve open on a sweatshirt. Once he dozed off I let him sleep. He's due for a wakeup any minute now." He glanced up the stairs. "I don't envy you babysitting, Sandburg. You sure you're up to it? I could stay."

"I can handle Jim," Blair answered, hanging up his coat. "His bark is worse than his bite."

Simon tossed the magazine aside and gathered his other belongings. "I'm sure I'll see the two of you tomorrow. You'll have to hog tie that man to keep him out of the station."

Blair grinned. "You're right about that. The best I can hope for is slowing him down a little. Actually, Simon, you might give Coach Keifer a call in the morning."

"Was there a problem?"

"Yes and no. I sensed some reluctance. He doesn't want to spook anyone unnecessarily, and I suspect he's worried it will reflect badly on his program somehow."

"Well, sure, I can give him a call."

"Better you than Jim, if you know what I mean. He did agree to let Jim talk to the team before practice tomorrow. I'll do my best to keep Jim here in the morning and make Rainier his first excursion."

"Gotcha," answered Simon. "I don't think our good Detective will be in a very diplomatic mood when morning arrives."

With a wave Simon pulled the door shut and Blair threw the locks. He stared at the clock wistfully for a moment. Time to wake Jim. It was going to be a long night.

&&&&

"Thanks for cooking, Chief. I know eggs and bacon aren't your favorite." Jim gratefully accepted a plate. Despite the protests about cholesterol and saturated fat, Sandburg made scrambled eggs to die for.

Blair dropped into the opposite chair, nursing his second mug of coffee. "Breakfast was easy compared to getting you dressed. Why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"And you're not?" Jim countered.

"Point taken, but why spend twenty minutes trying to wrap your cast in plastic when I can do it in twenty seconds."

"I was doing fine, you know. It was just the damn tape."

"Just the tape, huh? Jim, you were shooting rubber bands all over the room trying to get them on. You had wads of tape stuck everywhere but up your nose. Promise me you'll accept some help. It's going to be six weeks, man. I can't take the stress."

Jim didn't answer. Sandburg's intentions were good, and he was probably right, but he hated feeling dependent. "These eggs really are good, Chief," he said finally, closing the subject.

Blair accepted the setback gracefully. "I put some toast in," he said. "What do you want me to put on it? Jam? I know you can eat just fine, but some things really require two hands."

"I can handle it," Jim started to growl, and then caught himself. His broken arm wasn't much good in terms of manual dexterity. It would be a battle to open the jar, hold the bread and spread the jam. He could be stubborn or give it a rest. "You're right, some of that blackberry stuff would taste good." He paused as Sandburg retrieved the jam from the fridge. He could smell the tangy scent of berries as the jar was opened. "Sorry for the attitude," he grumbled, savoring a bite of eggs. "I'm beyond hungry and the breakfast tastes great.

"At least it's easy to eat," Blair answered with a grin. "Unless you want me to cut your meat, I'm afraid you'll have to skip the steak for awhile."

"I'm feeling persecuted. First this stupid yellow cast, my clothes and then my food." He munched a strip of bacon, studying his roommate. "You look beat, Sandburg. Maybe you should take a nap. Do you have to teach today?"

"I have class at ten, but I'll cancel my office hours. Then I'll come back and take you to the station."

"I can drive. You could just meet me."

"Jim, I'm sure you would figure out a way to drive that truck if you were in traction, but I really wish you'd wait. You're supposed to be resting. You can talk to the cross country team at three, but I thought you might like to see Deena before you do. If we have lunch here first, I figure we can string all the rest together."

"Nicely done, Sandburg," Jim answered wryly. "I almost didn't notice that your plan includes me staying here for more than half the day."

"Jim, you need to stay here half the day," Blair answered, looking over the top of his mug.

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do." Blair sighed and left the table. He returned with the coffee pot, refilling Jim's mug and his own. "Don't be impossible about this. You can call Serena and go over any evidence she's evaluated. You can check lots of things by phone even if it cramps your style. Save your strength for the run to Rainier."

Jim noted the tired blue eyes again. Blair would fight him tooth and nail on this, and expend a lot of energy in the process. "Okay. I'll even go upstairs and crash on the bed while I call around. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough. Want another piece of toast?"

Jim didn't miss the relief that washed across his roommate's face.

&&&&

Blair knew the lecture by heart and he was keenly aware that his delivery lacked the usual finesse. Besides the fatigue, he was worried about Jim and the case. As he turned to scribble some additional terms on the chalk board, he had to admit he was anxious to work on the investigation. This one seemed very personal.

He resisted the temptation to cut class short and persevered. Once he'd covered his planned material, he did allow himself to break discussion off and announced, "Be sure to review your reading assignment from the syllabus, and I won't be in my office today. If you have something urgent, leave a note with the department secretary with a phone number and I'll catch up with you. See you all Wednesday."

His plans for a quick exit failed. He'd barely collected his notes before two of his students were standing by the podium.

"Mr. Sandburg, we really need to talk to you." Blair automatically matched the names from his gradebook to the faces. Jenny Kyle and Sarah Franklin, both freshmen. Jenny was doing the talking. "My roommate's older sister is a friend of Deena Price, and she said you were helping with the stalker." She looked at Sarah. "We're scared."

At least she had finally taken a breath. Blair blinked, trying to sort through several thoughts at once. So much for worrying about getting the word out. He'd forgotten that dorm life had its own tribal drums. He also knew he was in a bit of a jam. Blair Sandburg wasn't the official spokesperson for the Cascade PD, and Rainier University probably would just as soon put their own spin on things, thank you very much. He didn't want to avoid the question, but he'd be walking a fine line.

"Slow down, ladies. Give me the short version."

"Uh, that there's a stalker on campus and he tried to kill Deena and ..." started Jenny.

"And maybe we should just go home until they catch him," finished Sarah, her voice squeaking past her anxiety.

"Whoa, wait a minute. Who said anything about a stalker?"

"Mr. Sandburg! Everybody knows about this!" Jenny said emphatically. "You're going to tell us the truth, aren't you? Not just feed us some dumb line like the RA's are."

Blair set his notes down and pulled his two students into the first row of chairs. "First of all, I can't speak as an official, but I think things got a little embellished here. There was an attempted assault, but it happened off campus in a remote rural area, and she was running alone. That's hardly a stalker on campus." He watched their reaction. They still seemed skeptical. "Rainier is a far cry from a road out in the middle of nowhere. If you're just going to and from the dorm there's no reason to assume you're at risk."

"But if he's a stalker..." started Sarah.

Blair shushed her gently with his hand. "The investigation is just starting. If there's any indication that this is a serial offender both the police department and the university will act accordingly. Right now I think this qualifies as wild speculation."

"Are you sure, Mr. Sandburg? Really sure?" asked Jenny.

"I'm sure," he answered soothingly. "It doesn't hurt to be smart. If you're on campus, try to keep to the public areas. If you're out at night, try to walk with someone else and stay where it's lighted. That's good advice under any circumstances. You ladies can handle that, can't you?" They nodded. "Okay, so none of this panic stuff." He stood up, hoping to get on the move if the crisis was over.

The girls made a few apologies and started for the exit. With a sudden afterthought, he called them back. "How widespread is this stalker thing, anyway?"

"Oh, like I said, everybody knows, Mr. Sandburg," Jenny answered with a smile and a wave.

"Great," muttered Blair. "Just great. I'll bet Simon's conversation with Coach Keifer was REAL interesting. We were worried about one problem and got another."

&&&&

Jim barely resisted the urge to slam the phone down as he hung up. In Sandburg's vernacular, his life sucked, and he really wanted to lash out and blow off some frustration.

"Real adult, Ellison," he chided himself, shifting on the pillows piled at his back and under his cast. Blair had made every effort to make him comfortable. A tray held some snacks, a thermos of coffee and the remains of a huge mug of hot chocolate, with marshmallows. No doubt his roommate was hoping that he'd relax enough with the hot chocolate to nap. The marshmallows were a dead giveaway. It wasn't every day that Sandburg catered to Jim's taste for empty calories and refined sugar. The phone had been moved close, along with paper and pencils, so no side trips out of bed were needed. Yup, he had everything all right. Everything except an arm without a cast and a lead or two.

His many phone calls had done nothing to reassure him. The neoprene ski mask found at the crime scene was generic. It would be useless to attempt to trace its purchase back to anyone in particular. Deena had indeed scratched her attacker, and the hospital had collected scrapings from under her nails. It would be enough to do a DNA match, but they needed someone to match it to first.

His last call on the motor vehicle search was equally discouraging. A vague description of the truck, combined with a maybe on the last digit of the plate just wasn't enough. Jim had spent twenty minutes with the Department of Motor Vehicles computer people convincing them to run what they had. Right now he could care less if the search resulted in thousands of hits. At least it was something.

He forced himself to lean back on the pillows. Sandburg would tell him to breathe, focus, relax and let the tension ease from his body. Instead, he stared angrily at the ceiling. Despite the frequent doses of Tylenol, his head still ached. If he didn't concentrate on the dials he was keenly aware of the damaged bones in his arm. Logic told him that a non-sentinel would be unaware, but logic wasn't helping him a lot at the moment.

Still fuming, he munched absently on some pretzels from the snack tray. Even if he somehow levitated down to Major Crime that moment, his cop instincts knew the truth. The trail was already cold.

&&&&

Rhonda tapped gently on the door and peeked in. "Captain Banks? It's the Chief of Police, line one." Her boss's groan almost made her wince. "Shall I tell them you've stepped out? Take a message?"

"No," answered Simon, shaking his head. "It's tempting, but no." He hesitated before stabbing the button for line one. "Tell you what. Call Ellison's place, and tell them to stay put. I'll head over there after I take this call. Tell them I'll bring lunch."

"Right away, sir. Do you want me to tell him..."

"That we're buried in spin control instead of solving a crime? Absolutely not. Let me handle Ellison."

"Order from the deli, then?"

Simon mouthed a silent, "Thank you," to Rhonda and turned his attention to his call. He wondered for the millionth time if it was a blessing or a curse that Ellison and Sandburg made his life so interesting.

&&&&

It was a vain hope that Jim was resting, but Blair tried to come in silently anyway. He was optimistic when he realized the loft was quiet and the lights were off. Slipping off his shoes, Blair tiptoed across the floor and eased up the stairs. He half expected Jim to bound out of the bathroom behind him and yell, "Boo." The idea of coming in unnoticed when you lived with a Sentinel was a little bit unrealistic.

Unless, of course, said Sentinel was recovering from a concussion and didn't seem to know the meaning of taking it easy. Blair leaned forward so he could look around the edge of the railing. Jim was actually asleep, a little heap of pretzels on his chest and the fragment of one still grasped in his fingers. Blair could see that the paper he'd left was covered with notes. He was no detective, as Simon frequently pointed out, but Jim had obviously been working his case until his battered body had overwhelmed him.

Blair retraced his steps, praying he'd miss any squeaky spots. Any sleep Jim could get was a bonus. He noted the flashing light on the answering machine. He'd turned the volume off without telling Jim. Keeping the volume low he checked the message, and then his watch. Simon would be here shortly. At least he wouldn't have to worry about making lunch.

He scribbled on a sticky note and left it on the door. Then he settled onto the couch and closed his eyes. Jim might be the beaten and battered one, but a few winks sounded pretty good to the amateur half of the partnership.

QUIET!  
Jim's asleep - door's open  
BJS

Simon shrugged and shifted his bags. Just like his civilian observer to leave orders for him. He eased the door open and despite the frustrations of the day, he had to smile.

Blair was flaked out on the couch, snoring softly. He was in his stocking feet, with a couple of toes sticking through one of the tattered argyles. His denim shirt was bunched up around his face. One hand had partially pulled an afghan off the back of the couch, the other trailed on the floor. Daryl had slept that way when he was young - running like a windup toy until he dropped in a heap. Simon shook his head. All those smarts and Sandburg still had the hint of a child. With Sandburg you never quite knew what you were going to get. It was part of his charm.

Simon deposited the lunch bags in the kitchen and realized he was being watched. A decidedly rumpled Jim Ellison stood at the top of the stairs. "Why are you here, Simon?" he asked.

"I asked Rhonda to call ahead."

"My partner must have intercepted it. Guess I fell asleep." Jim yawned and shuffled down the stairs.

"Guess you did," smirked Simon. "I brought Sandburg something with sprouts, but we got the meat lovers special. You want mustard?"

"Sure. Uh, you want coffee?"

"No. I got bottled water for everyone at the deli. You want to wake Sandburg, or should we scare him? We could let him sleep and eat his lunch, but neither of us want to be that healthy."

Jim didn't answer. Moving to the couch, he shook Sandburg's shoulder gently. "Hey, Chief. Wakey wakey." Blair's eyes flew open and he jumped. "Easy, Sandburg. I fell asleep, too. Simon brought us lunch. Up and at 'em, or I'll eat yours."

"Oh, man," said Blair, stumbling across the floor, "I really conked out." He accepted the sandwich. "Sprouts and cream cheese? With turkey? Thanks, Simon. How much do I owe you?"

Simon waved him off. "I needed the excuse to escape from the office. We've got a problem. Sometime this morning Rainier University decided they had a scandal in the making and started burning the phone lines to the Mayor's Office. They're insisting that all interviews with University personnel be arranged through Public Affairs."

"Oh, no," groaned Blair.

"Needless to say," Simon continued, "we've been running a little education on police procedure and obstruction of an investigation. I can't remember the last time I did this many gymnastics."

"What about Keifer? I still want to talk to the team, and I'm not going to be supervised by any twerp from public affairs," Jim exploded, dropping his sandwich.

"Eat your food, Ellison," Simon said sternly. "You'll talk to them. We just may have to play public relations ping pong for a bit. Don't blow a fuse."

"I don't need their permission to conduct an investigation," Jim answered hotly. He frowned at his sandwich. It had sort of disintegrated when he dropped it. Silently Blair reached across and reassembled his lunch without comment.

"No, you don't," Simon agreed. "I'm soothing their ruffled feathers in deference to Sandburg. At the moment, he's their scapegoat of choice.

"Me?" sputtered Blair, half choking on a mouthful. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," continued Simon. "I know that you talked to Keifer, came back to the loft and took care of Jim. Rainier, on the other hand, thinks you ran naked through the dorms, spreading rumors across their campus all by yourself. Like I said, we are reeducating them."

"Ah, man. I do not need that kind of hassle."

"Simon, this is so much crap! Sandburg would never do that, and you know it." Jim's sandwich went down for the count again. "Just who do I need to call?" he demanded.

"NO ONE. I'm handling it, and you will keep your tactful, low-key approach to yourself, Detective," Simon answered sarcastically. "I'll do the politics, you'll get your interview and we'll get Sandburg out of hot water, all in one package. That's why I'm here. To make sure we have no misunderstandings on this end."

"I hate this," groused Jim. "Don't they understand we have a criminal to catch?" He rubbed fretfully at his forehead. The headache was back, full force. Blair appeared at his elbow with two Tylenol in hand. Jim hadn't even noticed that he'd left the table.

"What do you want us to do, Simon?" Blair asked. He was trying to keep his face blank, but it was no surprise that he was upset.

"Put off the Rainier end of things until I call you. You can come to the station and sign your statement." Simon stood up, preparing to leave. "You can call some of the surrounding departments when you're there. See if anyone has a similar case that's on the back burner. Finish your lunch, and I'll be in touch. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," Jim answered. "I don't like it, but I'll do it your way." They watched in silence as their captain disappeared through the doorway.

"Did you know?" Jim asked quietly.

"I was worried," answered Blair. "Two of my freshman girls intercepted me after class. Apparently it's all over the dorms there's a murderous stalker on campus. I swear, Jim, Coach Keifer was the only one I talked to."

"Relax, Sandburg. You know procedure, and you don't gossip about an ongoing investigation. We settled that a long time ago, partner." He studied his friend. Blair was still upset. His heart rate had jumped. "Now you're the one who needs to eat. We'll check in with Deena, and then go to the station. If I have to knock any heads at Rainier on your behalf, I'll do it. To quote Simon, stop worrying."

********

Jim vetoed the Volvo, even though it was actually running that day, and reluctantly handed over the keys to the truck. He took it with grace when Blair teased him about being a control freak. They both knew it was true, so there was no reason to protest. After struggling with the seat belt, he swore softly as Blair reached over and buckled him in.

"Don't say it, Sandburg. I can't handle any commentary right now."

"Me? Make a smart remark to an injured man?" Sandburg smirked. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Sandburg," Jim growled in warning. He clenched his teeth as the truck bounced into the street. Somehow the stiff shocks didn't bother him a bit when he was doing the driving. Being the passenger was a different matter. He always felt like he was in a paint shaker and complained accordingly.

"Jim, would you relax! You'll be a nervous wreck before we get anywhere." They jounced across another rough spot in the pavement. "If I can live with your driving on a daily basis, you can hold it together to get across town."

"Sure, pick on the guy with the cast," Jim answered sarcastically.

"You and that cast!" Blair teased. "Haven't you ever heard of suffering in silence? It's not like there was another choice. Well, the splint wasn't a serious option."

I know." Jim sighed. "I can live with it, but why did they have to cover up my hand, anyway?"

"Don't you remember?" Blair asked. "They said the bone needed more support because of the way you broke it."

"They also said I needed to stay in the hospital overnight. Doctors are over-conservative." Jim propped the cast up on his knee and glared at it. They pulled to a stop at a light, and Blair tapped the cast gently.

"You are so transparent. Just forget it, Jim. You're not touching that cast." Jim tried to pull off an innocent look and Blair shook his head. "Don't try it with me. You were already guessing how hot the water would need to be to soak it off. At least have the decency to look guilty."

Jim opened his mouth to answer and then shut it, staring out the window instead. He hated it when Sandburg did that to him. "Besides," Jim thought to himself, "I was really trying to decide between the kitchen sink and the tub."

&&&&

Deena Price lived in a fairly modern apartment complex near campus. "She lives on the second floor, last door on the right," Blair volunteered.

"Why didn't you live in a place like this, Sandburg?" Jim noted the many bicycles chained to the railings. "This place looks like it's full of students. What were you doing in the slums?"

"Hey, the warehouse was great," Blair protested.

"Until it blew up," Jim answered pithily.

"Extenuating circumstances, man, a mere anomaly in an otherwise serene existence. Besides, I didn't have the cash flow."

Now it was Jim's turn to tease. "Sure, Sandburg. Rats. No heat. Cement floors." Blair gave him a mocking look and knocked on the door rather than ringing the bell. The door was opened by a sandy haired woman in her late twenties.

"Afternoon," Jim stated, producing his badge. "I'm Detective Ellison. I'd like to speak with Deena Price, please."

"She's resting. I don't think it would be a good idea." The woman's tone was unfriendly and uncompromising.

"She knew we were planning on coming by," answered Blair, trying to defuse the situation. This must be Deena's older sister. He didn't want Jim losing his temper in his already stressed condition. "She was very insistent last night."

"Well, I just can't see upsetting her any more than she is already." The woman stepped on the threshold, pulling the door almost closed behind her. "She's already answered your questions. Why don't you just leave her alone?"

"Desiree, let them in." The door opened again, and Deena was standing there, obviously moving slowly. "Hi, Jim, Blair. Come on in. This is my sister, Desiree, who means well but forgets that I'm not ten." She motioned them in, smiling at her sister fondly. This was clearly a long running debate.

The apartment was neat and simply furnished. Blair grabbed a chair from the dining area and Jim helped ease Deena back down on the couch. "How're ya doing, kid?" Jim asked gently when he sat down next to her. The bruises on her face stood out against her pale skin, and she looked tired. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't get comfortable. My ribs hurt. Actually, Jim, I think we were a pair last night, but you look a little better right now. I have to admit, I cried this morning when I looked in the mirror." She pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Blair pulled the chair closer and stroked her hand. "Hey, it's okay. I speak from experience. The ribs will get better. Today will be your worst day. The bruises will fade before you know it."

"This is exactly what I meant," her sister burst out angrily. "She's exhausted and you're just making it worse."

"No, they're not, Desi," Deena said. "Just because I'm a basket case doesn't mean they shouldn't be here." She squeezed Blair's hand and turned her attention to Jim. "The police artist came this morning. I did my best. Did they find any other evidence that will help?"

"Not much, but it isn't hopeless. Blair's taking me to the station after we leave here, and I'll check with the artist. Catching this guy is my top priority. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

She nodded and rubbed a stray tear off her cheek. "I'm glad you're here. What about my teammates? Did they remember seeing anyone suspicious? I know they'll try to help."

Jim and Blair exchanged glances. "I haven't talked to them yet," Jim answered honestly. "Probably this afternoon, though."

"What? Coach Keifer promised me," Deena protested.

"It's not Coach Keifer," Blair answered. "The University is just being a little cranky. You know, the Rainier bureaucracy we all love to hate. Captain Banks is taking care of it."

"Amanda. I was afraid this was going to be a problem," Deena answered, shaking her head. "I know what happened. My friend Amanda stayed with me last night, and before I realized it she'd called everyone she knew. I told her to quit acting like the town crier. I'm really sorry." She looked at Jim. "Does this ruin everything? It's all my fault."

"Hey, this is not your problem," assured Jim. "It's just politics as usual. Everyone worries about their image. You just need to rest, and I promise to keep you informed. I'll continue to stop by if you want me to."

"I do. It makes me feel more secure," she answered firmly, looking in her sister's direction. "Ignorance is not bliss." Her sister sighed in response, and Deena started to tear up again for a moment. "You'll just have to forgive me," she said, trying hard to dismiss her distress. "My emotions are just bouncing all over right now."

They chatted for a few minutes, and her mood brightened. Deena and Jim bantered about who looked worse. After some giggles and protests about her aching ribs, Jim relented and let Deena sign his cast. Her eyes danced with mischief as she produced a red felt pen and wrote:

#1 Cop  
Go Get 'Em, Jim  
Deena P

She waggled her eyebrows and surrounded it with a heart. "I'm the victim," she joked. "I can take liberties."

"That's the spirit," Blair encouraged. "The bad guys will take one look at that and run the other way."

"So much for my dignity," Jim grumbled.

Deena laughed, and then groaned. Blair got her attention. "You really need to get more rest and take your pain medication."

"You're a fine one to talk, Sandburg," Jim said with a snort. "May I introduce you to the man who believes tea is superior to real medicine when he's the patient?"

Blair ignored him, but Deena caught the by-play and smiled. "Have you called anyone yet?" he asked. "Like we discussed last night?"

"The rape counselor at the Crisis Center? Not yet. I want to, but..."

"They can help you talk through your experience. I really think you'll feel more at peace. It won't help your aches and pains, but emotionally, it's the right thing."

"Deena wasn't raped," her sister interrupted. "Why should she call a rape counselor?"

Deena shifted uncomfortably and clutched at Blair's hand again. "Hey, it's okay," he soothed. He spoke calmly to both women. "You're right, Deena wasn't raped, but the guy's intent was pretty clear. An assault, even one that isn't totally successful, is a violent act. It's perfectly normal for her to have the same fears and reactions." He turned his attention back to Deena. "It's a lot to handle on your own, or even with family members and friends. Someone with a little neutrality can be a huge help."

"I agree with Blair," Jim volunteered.

"You think?" Deena asked.

"I know."

"Blair, would you...help?"

"Call for you? Sure. I'll ask for Marla, the lady I told you about last night, okay?" Blair helped her up from the couch and followed her into the kitchen. Jim was left with Desiree and the muffled voices of the other two as the call was made. Desiree sat frowning, and finally spoke. "I just want to make it easier for her, you know. Deena's so independent. This has really shaken her up."

"You are helping, just by being here," Jim answered. He dug out one of his cards and scribbled some numbers on the back. "I want you to call me if anything comes up. I mean that. My cell and home numbers are on the back. I'll get Sandburg and we'll be on our way. I'll make sure the two of you know if anything breaks on the case."

"She has a lot of faith in you, Detective. She's telling herself that everything will be okay because you're going to catch this animal. I hope you realize that."

"We'll find him. You have my word." Jim only wished he could be as certain as he tried to sound.

&&&&

There was a flurry of activity as they entered the bullpen. Everyone wanted to hear the whole story from Jim. Henri Brown caught a glimpse of Deena's contribution to Jim's cast, and immediately went rummaging in his desk. He reappeared with his own felt tip marker and a gleam in his eye.

"No way, Brown," Jim scolded. "Stay away from me. You clowns are not turning me into a walking billboard."

Henri lowered the marker in mock disappointment. "We just want to show our support, right Rafe?" He threw a not too subtle elbow in his partner's ribs. He raised the pen again. "We can just add a few tasteful words of encouragement to bolster Cascade's finest."

"I'll bet. I can still pull my piece. Surrender your weapon and there won't be any trouble," Jim ordered. "Sandburg, you're deputized. Confiscate everything in the room that writes."

"Don't you people have anything to do?" Simon strolled through the door to Major Crime. He'd been close enough to hear the banter, and couldn't resist a shot of his own. "Nice cast, Ellison," he noted with amusement. "Told you yellow is a good color. Brown, is that report on the burglary case on my desk?"

"It's just coming off the printer, Captain."

"I want it on my desk - now. Then you and Rafe get busy on those interviews we discussed this morning. Jim, your statement is in my office. Let's get it signed. Sandburg, why don't you go down to the second floor and pick up the sketch from the artist. They called about fifteen minutes ago and said it was ready."

"Sure, Simon. Back in a few," Blair replied.

Simon motioned Jim into his office. He gestured toward the coffee pot and Jim nodded. "You're cleared to meet with the cross country team at four. Everyone's playing nice now. How was Miss Price?"

"Sore, upset, but keeping it together. Her sister is there, and she wasn't very excited to have us around."

"Will it be a problem?"

"No. She cooperated, and Deena has a mind of her own anyway." Jim sipped the coffee. "Sandburg got her in touch with the sexual assault counselor at the Crisis Center. I think that will help."

"I don't need to tell you how little we have to go on." Simon shook his head in disgust. "Some pretty important people are going to want us to play it down if we can't solve it quick"

"I'll get busy on the computer and the phones. We just have to hope for a break."

Simon nodded. "Keep me informed. Be careful not to push yourself too hard."

"Very good, sir. Thanks for the coffee."

Jim's plan was to start with some basic computer searches, but the cast gave him major problems. He quickly gave himself shoulder cramps trying to maneuver around the keyboard, and kept hitting the wrong keys, reducing him to one-finger typing. He was swearing under his breath when Sandburg returned.

"Hey, Jim, Serena sent you an envelope and I have a sketch from...what are you doing?" Blair set his papers down on the desk.

"I hate this. I can move my fingers, but I can't get the right angle over the keyboard." Jim banged the delete key impatiently.

"Move, Jim." Blair waved his hands in a shooing motion. "Let me do the computer. Your life as a disabled person is too painful to watch."

Jim rolled his desk chair back. "Your sympathy is overwhelming."

"Give me some credit. I didn't laugh out loud." Blair grabbed another chair and settled behind the computer. "Look at your papers, make your calls. You can dial one handed. I have plenty of practice doing this for you." He clicked away at the keyboard. "What do you think of the sketch?"

Jim pulled the drawing out. Actually, there were two, with accompanying notes from the artist. The first sketch had only the things Deena was pretty certain of. Besides the stocking cap and the ski mask, only the eyes would be useful. The second drawing included some attempts at the nose, mouth and chin. According to the artist, these were guesses at best, but he wanted to give them something to work from.

Jim's heart sank. He couldn't add anything. He'd hit the guy from behind, and his only view of the attacker's face had been competing with the sight of the tire iron whistling toward his skull. Between the two victims, the results weren't going to be useful for identification. They were back to square one.

He realized Blair was looking at him expectantly. He shook his head. "It's not going to help us. I wish I could remember more, gotten a better look at him. I can be pretty sure of his height and build, but that's about it."

"What about his voice? Or maybe his scent," Blair suggested in a lower voice.

"Maybe if I had the guy in front of me I could match something up. Unfortunately, we need the guy first." He picked up the other envelope. "Thanks for doing that, Chief. I'll check this stuff and then start calling."

It wasn't the kind of work that yielded immediate results. Jim left more messages than anything else. Most of the officers that might be able to help weren't sitting at their desks, they were out working. He'd have to trust that people would be conscientious about returning his calls. Time slipped by, and Jim felt his patience slipping with it. He hadn't expected anything different, but he had hoped for a miracle.

A soft whistle from his partner at the keyboard got his attention. "What?" he asked urgently.

"Take a look at this." Blair hit a few more keys and pulled his chair back.

The picture of a lovely young woman filled the computer screen. Jim scrolled down reading the information quickly. "Shit, Sandburg," he murmured. "It's damn near a carbon copy! Running in a National Forest, the description - when did this happen?"

"Long enough for them to be making appeals on the internet for leads," Blair answered. "I have a vague memory of it happening. It's so close it's spooky. Do you think it's the same guy?"

"Who knows?" Jim answered, reading intently.

"I left you some bookmarks. There's a lot of stuff."

"I need to talk with someone involved with the investigation." Jim stared at his partner. "This is great work, Sandburg. Even if the cases aren't related, I need to pick their brains."

"Someplace I saw the FBI has the case now. There was a Grand Jury called. It referenced - uh," Blair scrabbled through his notes, "the U.S. Attorney's Office in Cheyenne."

Jim was already picking up the phone. "This may be the only time in my life I want to talk to a Fed. What's the area code for Wyoming?"

&&&&

"You're not complaining, Jim. I just went over two bumps and a curb, and you didn't say a word."

"Sandburg, I don't get it," Jim snapped. "Now you're complaining about me not complaining? Maybe I'm just being polite and restrained. I'll take a cab next time."

"I'm making an observation, not complaining, and you'd no more take a cab than flap your arms and fly," Blair stated flatly, sneaking a look at his passenger. "Besides, I know you too well. Your head hurts, doesn't it? What about your arm? Where are your dials?"

Jim shifted uncomfortably. "The famous Sandburg Bug-Under-A-Microscope routine strikes again. Okay. Here's the list. The dials won't work, my arm hurts, my head aches, the traffic is a nightmare and your driving is awful. I think that about covers everything."

"Jim, your senses have the potential to make even minor injuries a problem," Blair answered, totally exasperated. He pelted Jim with rapid-fire questions. "Why didn't you say something? You have to tell me these things. How long since your last Tylenol? There's some in the glove compartment. Do you need to cancel?" Blair reached over to try to open the glove compartment and nearly swerved into a parked car.

"Chief, concentrate on driving before you kill us. No, I don't need to cancel. I have a broken arm, not some dire, life-threatening disease."

"Okay, Jim, I won't try to argue with you, but at least take the Tylenol." He waited while Jim swallowed the tablets dry. "Do you want me to do anything during this meeting?"

"Well, here's how I see it," Jim started. The rest of the trip was devoted to strategy.

Despite the resistance from the University earlier in the day, Coach Keifer had made a genuine effort to set things up. Nearly thirty young women were packed into a small classroom in the Training Center. Jim carefully outlined how the attack took place, and patiently answered question after question until they finally wound down.

"Can I answer anything else?" Jim asked. "Okay, good. Here are the two things you can do for me. First, personal safety. Don't run alone, and I've already gotten the lecture on why everyone does some training runs solo." He studied the faces in the room. At least they were listening. "I repeat, DON'T RUN ALONE, no matter what, and stay in places that are very public."

"Detective Ellison, couldn't we - I don't know, carry mace or something?" one of the women asked.

"You could, but it might not help. This attack came from behind. Deena never knew it was coming. If the guy's aim had been better, he would have hit her in the head and knocked her out. My guess is that was his original intention. Mace, or any other weapon, much less self defense, won't help if you're unconscious." He let that statement sink in. "Look, I can't order any of you, but we just can't keep you safe if you don't help." The nods were reluctant, but they seemed to understand.

"Second," Jim continued, "I need you to think. The attacker may have tried this before. Maybe followed someone but didn't have quite the right conditions to pull it off. Talk to other runners, especially people not connected the University. Try to remember if you ever had a sense that someone was following you, or saw something unusual." He scanned the room. No one volunteered anything. "If something makes you feel uncomfortable, present or past, contact me immediately." He nodded to Blair, who started handing out cards. "The numbers where you can reach me are there. You can also contact Mr. Sandburg in Hargrove Hall. He works with me as a civilian observer, and some of you already know him. You don't need to be sure. Any suspicion you have, we're going to follow up on. Oh, one more thing. If you think this guy is anywhere near you, don't be a hero or speak to him. Get somewhere safe and call. Okay?" This time the nods seemed more certain.

"Great, ladies. I'll keep in touch with Coach Keifer if anything develops. Thanks for your time." With that, both Jim and Blair shook hands with the coach, and headed back to the truck.

"Are you disappointed none of them spoke up, other than the general questions?" Blair asked.

"Not really. It's kind of a long shot, but I just have a feeling this guy looks for opportunities, and this wasn't his first try."

"Well, maybe someone will remember something after they have time to think." Blair noticed Jim's pace had slowed just a hair. He held his body a bit stiffly as they moved down the broad steps leading to the parking lot. Blair was certain Jim was pushing himself way too hard. "Why don't we pick up some Chinese on the way home? Neither one of us feel like cooking."

"I want to go to the station, see if anyone called back. We still need to look at the info from Motor Vehicles."

"Jim, when we sprung you from the hospital you kind of promised Dr. Allen you'd take it easy today," Blair reminded him as he unlocked the truck.

"I keep telling you I'm fine, Chief. Just do the driving."

Rainier wasn't a long drive from Cascade PD, and Blair's suspicions were confirmed when Jim's head started to nod after the second block. Just fretting over someone else driving his precious Sweetheart was usually enough to wind Jim up like a spring. Instead, he was fading fast. While they waited at the first stoplight, Jim's head drifted to the side until it bumped against the passenger window. He was sound asleep.

"Damn you, Jim," Blair muttered softly. "Couldn't you stop being supercop long enough to give yourself a break?" When the light turned green, Blair eased slowly back up to full speed, making every effort not to wake Jim with a rough start. He briefly toyed with the idea of heading back to the loft. Jim would have a fit. Pulling out his cell phone when hit the next light, Blair dialed Rhonda's number. "Hey, Rhonda, can you hear me?" he whispered. "No, we're just leaving the University. Have any calls come in for Jim? I agree, it's a little early, or late, depending on how you think about it. Yeah, I know. Most people go home, but Jim's not most people. Look, can you do some magic with the phone so calls to his number will ring at the loft? You can? Great! No, I'll head home, and thanks, beautiful lady." Taking one last glance at his sleeping companion, he turned right when the light changed. If Jim squawked he'd have to call Simon or something.

Jim came awake about a block from the loft. The road was just too bumpy to produce a Sentinel-smooth ride. Blair braced himself for the storm as Jim rubbed his eyes and realized where they were.

"Sandburg, what are you doing? Don't pull this Nurse Nancy routine with me. Turn this truck around. I have a job to do."

Blair pulled into the parking space. "Excuse me, but that job also includes recovering from a concussion and actually getting some sleep. You hardly got any rest last night between me waking you up and your arm aching. You need the sleep to stay sharp." Blair turned the ignition off.

"Start this thing back up," Jim ordered angrily. "We go to the station, I wrap things up, and then I'll call it a day."

"I called Rhonda. As of ten minutes ago there had been no return calls. The Department has some new gizmo, and your calls are going to be forwarded to the loft. What else is there to check?"

"I can't believe you did this, Sandburg!" Jim blustered. He was clearly ticked off and wasn't paying any attention to Blair's logic. "You're the observer, not the detective. I decide on how to conduct the investigation..."

"WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO CHECK?" Blair interrupted. He'd raised his voice but tried to keep it calm. That comment brought Jim's tirade to a temporary halt. "Enlighten me. What else can we do working into the evening when the people you need to talk to have already gone home like normal humans? Is there new evidence? Paperwork?" He bore Jim's glare in silence. "Come on, Jim. If we can monitor the phone here, what's the harm?" There was still no answer. "Jim?"

Jim popped the latch on the seat belt and awkwardly got the passenger door open. "I hate it when you're right," he mumbled. The slam of the truck door was just for effect.

Blair hopped out on his side. "Feel better now?" he asked with a grin. "You can kick the elevator too if that'll help."

"Don't push it, Chief. Just don't push it."

&&&&

Even with Jim's grudging cooperation it was a pretty full evening. Blair ordered Chinese, as planned. Jim accepted help shedding his street clothes and wrapping his cast in plastic. While he soaked the day's tension off in the shower, Blair found some clothes for him that would require minimal effort and checked in with Dr. Allen. Allen was none too pleased, but at least he didn't demand that his patient be returned to the hospital immediately. Blair breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't even want to contemplate that conversation with Jim.

The shower turned off at the same time the food arrived. As far as Blair was concerned, it smelled like heaven, even though Simon had brought a decent enough lunch. He could hear Jim mumbling to himself and went to check on him. "Jim?" he called, knocking on the door and pushing it open just a crack. "You need a hand with anything?"

"Yes, damn it."

Blair peeked in. "I see," he said with a smile. "The officer of the year is defeated by a lowly pair of socks. I promise not to tell."

"It's a good thing one of us sees humor in the situation." With a look of total disgust on his face, Jim held out his trademark white socks and waited.

"No problem, Jim," Blair said softly as he knelt down. "Dinner's here. I ordered extra egg-rolls and made some tea."

"Any calls?"

"Jim, face it. The rest of the world is eating dinner. We'll get after it tomorrow." Blair gathered up the remnants of the discarded plastic garbage bag and tape. "You can have one of my messages. I checked my voice mail in my office. University Affairs wants to see me in the morning." He shrugged and headed for the kitchen. "Come sit down. I'm starved."

Jim followed in hot pursuit. "Don't go, Sandburg. You don't deserve to be chewed out. I'll call them."

"Relax, Jim." Blair was already dishing up their meal. "We both know it's an over-reaction. I'll talk to them and it will all blow over. Now eat."

They finished second helpings and were settled in front of the television when the phone rang. Blair didn't even have a chance to move before Jim snatched up the receiver. "Ellison." There was a long pause. Finally he turned and silently mouthed to his partner, "Wyoming."

It was a long call, and for once Jim's expression kept no secrets. Despite the fact that their case was unsolved, the FBI agent in charge had no qualms detailing their troubles. It was a long list. Jim motioned Blair to come closer, so he could read over his shoulder. He scratched nearly illegible notes on a yellow legal pad, outlining the sequence of the Wyoming investigation. Every now and then Jim would add a star by the rare investigative option he hadn't already considered, calling his friend's attention to it.

After hanging up the phone, Jim stared at the notes. Blair was impatient, but he was willing to wait until Jim was ready to talk. "The case is almost identical," he said thoughtfully, "except the victim didn't get away. No witnesses, no physical evidence, nothing. They've chased down every possible lead and hit dead end after dead end." Jim looked up at his friend. "We're going to be in the same boat. I can't let that happen, Chief."

Jim looked too discouraged to even muster up any anger. He also looked dead on his feet. "Hey, Jim," Blair said gently. "Give it a day or two at least. We might get a break." Jim said nothing. "Look, you're tired. Hit the sack and we'll make something happen tomorrow. Have a little faith, man."

"You win, Chief." He finally answered. "Tomorrow's another day."

&&&&

Blair was reaching for one of his last blue books when he heard Jim moan softly. He quickly checked the clock. It was well after midnight. Blair sighed. Missing his office hours always put him behind on his grading. He dumped the piles surrounding him back on the coffee table and padded up the stairs in his stocking feet.

Jim was half awake, tangled in his bed covers. Even in the dim light from downstairs, Blair could see the pale sheen of sweat. "Hey, Jim? What's the matter, man?"

"Nothing, Chief." Jim pushed up on the elbow of his good arm. "What time is it?"

"It's after midnight, and you may as well tell me the truth."

"Were you grading all this time? That damn University ends up paying you about ten cents an hour. Go to bed, for God's sake."

Blair sat carefully on the edge of the bed. "Come on, Jim. Where are you hurting?" He reached across and pushed another pillow under his friend's head.

Jim sighed and gave up. "It's my arm. It feels like something is eating it from the inside."

"Sounds awful. Dials?"

"Just not working," Jim answered. His voice was edged with confusion. "I don't get it, Sandburg. I've had gunshot wounds that didn't bother me this much."

Blair frowned. "You've never had a broken bone since your senses came online. We're in new territory." His concern deepened as Jim shifted again, restless with pain. "I don't really know what to do, Jim."

"This is killing me. Think of anything you want and I'll cooperate."

Blair was stunned. Jim had to really be suffering to make that kind of an offer. Maybe just doing something was as important as doing the right something. "Okay, give me a second. Close your eyes and try to do your breathing." He slipped back down the stairs, his mind racing. A cool cloth - he could at least wipe down the overheated skin and get Jim into fresh clothes. He could try some tea, some mental imaging, anything to coax Jim back into sleep. It was the rest that he really needed, even if he was too stubborn to admit it.

Blair Sandburg was facing another long, uncertain night.

&&&&

Morning came too soon. Any previous routines the two men had evolved went out the window. Jim was frustrated at having to ask for help, and Blair couldn't seem to get one thing finished before he needed to do something else. His big accomplishment for the morning was cooking breakfast at one stretch while Jim was in the shower. It was a relief to sit down and eat.

Neither man was very talkative. Eventually, Blair was lost in his own thoughts, picking off the crust of a piece of toast he didn't want, when he realized that his breakfast companion was gathering up dishes to clear the table. He neatly intercepted Jim on his way to the kitchen. "Forget it, Jim," he laughed. "You can let me be the substitute neat-freak. Clearing the table one dish at a time is very inefficient, and we don't have the time."

"Stupid cast. Chief, you look beat again, and it's my fault."

"Don't try to keep score. You've been at my bedside a few times. Friends do what friends do."

The ride to the station was made in silence. Blair really was tired. Even after Jim had settled into an uneasy sleep he'd stayed with him until nearly dawn. He would have given anything not to get up for a few more hours. Unfortunately, University Affairs wasn't an appointment you canceled. Blair pulled the truck up to the front of the PD with twenty minutes to spare.

You have problems with those idiots, you call me."

"Jim, will you just get out of the truck, stop worrying, and go to work. I'll come back as soon as I finish my seminar class. It starts at nine. I'll be here before noon at the latest." Jim was still looking at him doubtfully. "Jim, stop it. I'm early, and I even dressed up to make a good impression."

"Only you would consider jeans without holes in the knees a fashion statement." He looked his friend over critically. "You could have worn a tie. I could have loaned you one that didn't have cartoon characters on it."

Blair threw his hands in the air. "Go, Jim. Just go. You do the crime, I'll do the academia." With a smile and a wave Blair pulled the truck out of the PD parking garage.

His confidence wavered after fifteen minutes on the overstuffed furniture in University Affairs. Dean Adkins was the ultimate supervisor of all Teaching and Research Fellows at Rainier. He had a reputation among the grad students of being arbitrary, dictatorial, and a real barracuda. Blair had only met him once or twice. The man made him uncomfortable, and the "I am calm" mantra just wasn't doing the trick.

Dean Adkins appeared at the door of his office. "Come in, Mr. Sandburg. Welcome to University Affairs." There was a smile on his face, but the eyes were ice.

Blair could read the vibes. It was time to be roasted and toasted.

&&&&

Jim went back to the phones. By midmorning he had three, maybe four possibilities that fit the profile. Mixed in with all the other missing persons were four women who had disappeared over a seven year period without a trace. They were distinguished by having no logical reason to explain their disappearance. No involvement in high risk activities like drugs or prostitution. No family problems. In all the cases the bodies had never been found, and the physical evidence was minimal or nonexistent. Two had been running, one riding a bicycle, the fourth apparently walking home after her car broke down. All took place in rural areas within forty miles of Cascade. All were unsolved. Jim gathered what he had and went to brief Simon.

Together detective and captain pored over a map of the area surrounding Cascade, carefully plotting the locations of each attack. There were some similarities. The time of the disappearances were late afternoon or early evening. The women had last been seen on rural, two lane roads with minimal traffic, and ranged in age from eighteen to twenty-nine.

"I don't know, Jim," said Simon. "They could be completely unrelated."

"You're right. Or they could be our guy."

"Serial offenders usually have a more rapid pace than this."

"Maybe he's careful. Maybe he changes location, moves around the country." Jim leaned over the desk, staring at the map. "I feel in my gut that this is a repeat crime."

"I trust your instincts, Jim, but I don't know what to do." Simon stared out the window, as if inspiration would stream in with the sunlight. "We can't run a stakeout. There are just way too many areas to consider. I can't imagine that putting a police woman out as a decoy would be very productive for the same reason. We could troll for months and just not be out at the right time or place." The two men considered their predicament.

"He can't be that perfect, Simon. No one is. There has to be someone like Deena who got away."

"We can only hope, Jim. We can only hope."

&&&&

Blair had escaped Dean Adkins office with barely enough time to get to his seminar. It was a class he couldn't afford to miss, but his presence was sort of a waste of effort. He couldn't keep his focus on the discussion. His mind kept floating back to the wood paneled office and Adkins menacing voice.

_Dean, Miss Price can confirm that the rumors did not originate with me. I can understand your concern, but I wasn't responsible. All I did was contact Coach Keifer at the request of both Miss Price and Detective Ellison._

Exactly. It was an action which I consider totally inappropriate.

Dean, there were very extenuating circumstances involved. Detective Ellison was injured. If I hadn't gone, he would have, at risk to himself and against his physician's orders.

Mr. Sandburg, that is precisely the point. In my opinion, being a police observer is incompatible with holding a teaching fellowship at this University.

Dean, this is important to my research. It's been approved by my advisor and the Anthro Department.

That does not preclude me from making my own review, which I have done. I would suggest you promptly make arrangements to either sever your relationship with the police department or give up your fellowship. Make a choice, young man.

Blair forced himself back to the discussion. He managed a few inane comments before being overwhelmed again. His advisor was gone for another month. The department might go to bat for him, but no one really wanted to cross Adkins. He'd have to track down someone on the Grad Student Council, or maybe the University Ombudsman. There had been no due process. Surely Adkins couldn't do a review overnight without even talking to anyone.

On the other hand, maybe he could.

&&&&

Jim spent more time on the phones, working his way through the list of neighboring departments in an ever widening circle. This time his search was more difficult. He was looking for attempted assaults that fit his criteria - young women on foot, alone, in rural areas. Someone would remember. Someone had to remember.

It took time. It was frustrating. Time passed, and his stomach growled. It was well past noon.

Where the hell was Sandburg?

&&&&

Blair stared at his desk in dismay. He was hours late getting back to the PD and all he'd managed to do was spin his wheels. He couldn't reach his advisor under any circumstances. The Chairman of the Anthro Department wanted separate documentation before taking on Adkins. Basically, he'd been noncommittal. Blair had been at the University too long not to recognize "watching your back" when he saw it. He had paperwork to file a grievance, assuming that was what he wanted to do. The Office of the Ombudsman would act on his behalf to mediate, but that was an entirely separate set of forms. He could go directly to someone farther up the food chain in Administration, but even with a solid record of teaching and publishing, Blair Sandburg, lowly Teaching Fellow, didn't have the kind of clout to make that a successful strategy.

To top it off, Adkins worked fast. The Business Office had already left him a message, indicating the balance that would be due on his tuition for the remainder of the semester if he gave up his fellowship by Adkins drop-dead date. Needless to say, the $87.23 left in his checking account wasn't going to cover it. In fact, the only kind of activities that might generate the required amount of cash were all illegal. Even if he was inclined, it wasn't much of an option when your roommate was Officer of the Year.

What about his dissertation? What about Jim?

"Mr. Sandburg?" Blair jumped a foot, thoroughly banging his knee on the desk. The young woman standing at the door looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry I startled you. I knocked and you didn't hear me. That must have hurt."

"Well, no blood spilled," Blair answered, trying to recover his composure. "Come in and have a seat - somewhere."

She dropped her shoulder bag and moved a stack of files off the only other chair in Blair's cluttered office. "Nice filing system. Can you find anything?"

"Most of the time," Blair answered with a laugh. "You're not the first to ask. Let's start over. I'm Blair Sandburg, and you are...?"

"Lisa Collins. I'm doing an internship as a trainer with the athletic department. I heard about Deena Price. I'm not sure that it was the right choice to come and see you. I'm probably wasting your time."

"Go ahead. I'm all ears. Please."

"It was such a long time ago," Lisa said softly.

"When?" Blair asked.

"Six years ago. I was a freshman. I ran cross country." She looked away and fiddled with the cuff of her sweater.

"Lisa, were you attacked?" Blair asked anxiously.

"No, but I might know...oh, I'm doing this all wrong."

"Take your time," Blair said.

"It's kind of a long story," she said apprehensively. "Are you sure you have the time?"

"I definitely have the time." He smiled, hoping to encourage her a little. Please, please let this be a lead.

"There was this girl on the team. I didn't really know her. She was the number one or two runner and a senior, and I was just this awkward freshman trying to figure out the basics. Anyway, just a couple weeks into the season, she quit the team, real suddenly. Coach was super upset. She didn't give a reason, and she wouldn't talk to him. It caused quite a stir." Blair nodded, hanging on every word.

"So this guy on the team, a real jerk, was razzing one of her friends about this girl being a real loser for walking out like that. Her friend just started screaming at him, telling him he didn't know what he was talking about, and to shut up. She was the sweetest girl and she called him every name in the book. I was in the training room getting some tape, and I didn't want to walk into the middle of it, so I kind of hid, waiting for it to blow over." She stopped. "This must sound completely crazy."

"Go on," Blair encouraged.

"The guy took off, and the friend, she was crying hysterically. One of the other senior women pulled her to the back of the locker room to calm her down."

"Let me guess. You were still stuck there, in the middle of a very private moment."

Lisa blushed. "Yeah. I didn't want to listen, but I couldn't leave either and walk right past them. I was so mortified." She halted again and looked off into the distance for a moment. "Anyway, she was just sobbing, going on about how the jerk would be ashamed if he knew."

Blair waited for the other shoe to fall. "Knew what, Lisa?"

"I didn't hear everything, they were trying to keep their voices down, but I'm pretty sure that the woman who quit had been raped on a training run. She was too ashamed to report it, and too scared to keep running. I'm not sure, you know? I could just be spreading a rumor. I don't even remember her name."

"And she never told Coach Keifer?"

"I'm sure he would have done something. He was really upset about her leaving. He mentioned several times that he tried to contact her and she wouldn't answer his calls or talk with him. I don't think she told anyone except her friend." She gave Blair an anguished look. "What if I'm completely off base?"

Blair grabbed his coat, his university problems completely forgotten. "Come on, we're going to the library."

"Why?" Lisa asked, clearly mystified.

"Because that's where they keep the annuals for each year. We're going to find a name to put with your story."

&&&&&

It was nearly two and still no Sandburg. There was no answer at his office. Jim was fuming. He needed Blair to drive out to the possible abduction sites, and that was just for starters. Truthfully, he needed the grad student for a lot more reasons than to be a chauffeur. For someone who had worked a long time without a partner, it was an uncomfortable admission.

For lack of anything else to do, Jim grabbed the oversized envelope from Motor Vehicles. As soon as he lifted it, he realized they had another problem. He pulled out the thick bundle of pages with dismay. Now he understood why the computer archivist had discouraged him from searching with the pitiful information they had available. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of vehicle registrations listed. Jim groaned, flipping through the pages. It was another dead end. Suddenly he whipped around, sensing Sandburg at almost the same moment the young man came bounding through the door. He was waving a Xerox copy of what looked like a picture.

"Jim! I think we have a lead!"

"What? What kind of lead? Calm down, Chief, or you're going to hyperventilate." Jim forced him into a chair and took the crumpled sheet of paper from his hand.

"Okay. It's a cross country team picture from six - no seven - years ago. See the woman I circled?" Blair was gesturing excitedly, hardly able to contain himself. "This woman came to see me in my office today. She was a freshman when this Connie Duncan..."

"The one in the picture?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, the one in the picture - she was a senior. Duncan left the team suddenly, without an explanation. Lisa..."

"The one who came to your office?"

"Yeah, yeah. Pay attention, Jim. Anyway, Lisa overheard a conversation at the time to the effect that Duncan was raped on a training run and didn't report it." He waited while Jim stared silently at the paper. "Well? Is it too old? Too flimsy? Say something."

"Sandburg, you never cease to amaze me. So why the picture?"

"Lisa, the woman who came to see me, was younger. She didn't really know her name. We went back to the annual for the previous years and picked her out."

"Right." Jim looked across the bull pen. "Seven years. She could have moved, could have married. We need to track her down and talk to her. Would Rainier know that kind of thing?"

"There's an alumni office," Blair volunteered. The excitement in his eyes faded. "I don't know, Jim. Is this like personnel records or something that are kept confidential?

Jim frowned. "I have no idea. I don't think we could get a warrant to compel them with this tenuous a link. Let's go talk with Simon."

**_Two Days Later_ **

"Where's our next one, Jim?"

Jim checked his list. "Connie Phillips. Address is just outside of Rocky Creek. You know how to get there?"

"Highway 35?" Blair guessed.

"Not bad, Sandburg, for someone with no sense of direction."

"You're the one with the map, not me." Blair halted at an intersection, waiting to blend into the traffic. "What a wild goose chase. How many of these have we checked? I lost count yesterday afternoon."

"Twenty-six so far, not counting the ones we did by phone. This is the last one that's close to Cascade. If Connie Duncan left the state after Rainier we'll probably never find her."

"I almost forgot to tell you. Lisa checked with Coach Keifer. He has a big bulletin board where he displays letter and other stuff from his former athletes. He said he's never heard from Connie Duncan since she left the team."

"Don't speed in my truck, Chief. I'm not paying the ticket."

"That's rich, coming from you. Is Simon still working on the alumni association at Rainier?" Blair asked.

"He called again this morning. Still no dice. You know, Simon was puzzled about something. He said the guy at Rainier made some comment about you, but when Simon tried to quiz him, he clammed up." Jim gave his driver a long, thoughtful look. "Is there something going on you need to tell me about, Chief?"

"No." Blair stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact. It was a dead giveaway. Blair was the most distracted driver Jim had ever seen. He was always looking at Jim more than the road.

"NO - as in there isn't something going on, or NO - as in you don't want to discuss it?" Jim asked.

Blair tried to laugh it off. "Only a suspicious mind would turn a one-word answer into an interrogation."

"This suspicious mind notices you didn't answer the question. Give it up. You're busted." After a brief silence, Jim added, "In case you haven't noticed, you're kind of trapped here, and I'm not letting you off the hook."

"Jim, you don't need to know every detail of my existence. There is such a thing as privacy."

"Try that argument with someone who isn't the subject for your dissertation." Jim turned sideways in the seat. He had every intention of getting to the bottom of this.

"Okay, already." Blair took a moment to gather his thoughts. The trick was to minimize the information without actually trying to lie. Jim would sense an out and out lie. "The Dean that supervises the teaching fellows had some questions about my role as an observer."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "Very good, Chief. You'd do covert ops proud. You told the truth without actually saying anything. If that's all there is to it, why did Simon pick up the implication that you would be leaving us soon?"

"I'm not leaving, Jim," Blair answered softly. "It's about friendship, remember? We've covered this ground before."

"When we had that conversation the last time, you passed on an expedition to Borneo. Why don't you tell me what the price tag is this time?" He waited. "Blair? Tell me."

"Dean Adkins gave me a choice - the PD or my teaching fellowship. I can fight it, but those arrangements take time. I just needed to make some contingency plans for the short term."

"I don't like the sound of this. What contingency plans?"

Blair continued to look straight ahead, as if the nearly empty highway took every last ounce of his attention. "I need to pay the balance of my tuition when I'm not teaching, at least until I can get things straightened out. It's taken care of." His voice was calm and steady. Jim was horrified.

"Damn it, Sandburg!" he barked angrily. "How are you doing that? Donating a kidney? Robbing a bank? Stop the truck, Chief. Pull in over there." Blair complied and braced for the challenge he knew was coming.

"How much money are we talking about?"

"Jim, please. This isn't your concern."

"If this is about friendship, of course it's my concern," Jim countered.

"It's temporary, really. It's just that the wheels of bureaucracy turn slowly, and I need the cash until I get my hearing. I took an advance on my credit card."

"At seventeen percent interest? Besides you don't have that much credit."

"I've made arrangements to sell the Volvo, and I'll pick up some private tutoring when I'm not teaching. It'll be enough."

"This is crazy. You can't give up your teaching fellowship, even temporarily," Jim said firmly. "I won't have it."

"Could we drop this for now? We're supposed to be working, you know. Really, Jim, it's all under control."

"Go ahead, Sandburg, drive us to Rocky Creek." Blair pulled back out onto the highway. "Just don't think this is over, Chief," Jim stated grimly.

&&&&

Neither man spoke again until they took the turn off to Rocky Creek. After consulting the map, Jim tersely directed his partner to their destination. When they arrived, long experience told Blair that Jim was scanning the well-kept home in front of them.

"Did we strike out?" Blair asked.

"Looks like it. Rocky Creek is a small town. Maybe we can ask around, find out if she's at work."

"You're the boss," Blair said and reached for the keys.

"Hold it. Someone's coming." To their relief, a grey sedan driven by a dark haired woman pulled into the driveway. By the time they'd crossed to the car she was rummaging in the back seat.

Mrs. Phillips? Connie Phillips?" Jim asked politely.

"Well, yes." She straightened up to look at them. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"Ma'am, I'm Detective Jim Ellison with the Cascade Police Department." Jim held out his shield. "This is Blair Sandburg, a consultant with the department. We'd like to speak with you for a few moments."

"You're a long way from Cascade, Detective. What's this about?" she asked pushing a lock of brunette hair behind her ear. "I really need to take the girls inside."

"Maybe I can help," Blair offered. "I'm good with kids," he added with a genuine smile.

"How are you with twins?" she asked, returning the grin.

"Twice as good," he answered, laughing.

"You're hired. Meet Kylie and Kelly. They're eighteen months. Grab an armful." She turned her attention to Jim. "You're welcome to come inside, but give me a hint, Detective."

"We're trying to locate a Connie Duncan who attended Rainier in the early 90's and ran for the cross country team."

"That's me," she answered. Her voice wavered a bit, and Jim hesitated. She noticed and said firmly, "Cut to the chase, Detective."

Jim realized there was no way to soften this. "Mrs. Phillips, this may be difficult for you. We've been given information that you may have been assaulted during your senior year. May we..."

He didn't get any farther. Connie Phillips' eyes filled with tears, and she slumped against the car. "Oh, my God. How did you know?" Jim barely had time to catch her on the way down.

&&&&

Blair took charge of the little girls. Jim got Connie Phillips to a comfortable chair with a glass of water.

"My husband doesn't know," she said haltingly. "I never told anyone, except my roommate, and she figured it out on her own. We were teammates. She came home and found..." She stopped, overwhelmed again. "Why is this coming up now?"

"Last week another woman runner from Rainier was attacked in an attempted abduction. I happened to be there. That's how I got this," Jim explained, raising his cast. "For some reason he didn't see me. I chased him off, but I didn't get a good look at him, and he got away."

"Oh, no," Connie whispered. "That poor girl. Did he hurt her?"

"She's bruised and scared. He was tying her up when I tackled him. She's seeing a counselor, which helps. I really think she'll be okay. We don't have many leads to follow, so any potential lead is important. That's why we're here."

"How did you find me?"

"It was a hunch from a younger team member of yours. She was very discreet, if that is a concern. We've been looking for you for days." Jim waited as her tears flowed. He could hear Sandburg down the hall, occupying the girls with a quiet game. They had time to let this poor woman take her own pace.

"Detective Ellison, I can't help you," she finally answered. "I did everything wrong. I panicked. I didn't call the police. When I got myself home I scrubbed in the shower until my skin was raw. I ruined the evidence." She took a long drink of water, struggling for control. "I was so ashamed. There was no point in telling when I couldn't prove anything. I couldn't face it. I didn't even tell Coach Keifer, and he was like a dad to me." She tried again to compose herself.

"Take your time. I know this is hard."

"I got tested - for disease - and I was okay. I never ran again. I just couldn't. I graduated and moved up here. Then when I met Jeff three years ago, there didn't seem to be any point."

"It's okay," Jim said quietly. "It doesn't have to be public knowledge even now. Can you remember anything about how he looked, or describe the attack? Anything to help us find him."

"Okay. I can do that. I was running out by the reservoir. I never saw him. One minute I was running, the next thing I knew I was coming to with my hands tied and this bastard stripping my clothes off. He had a bandana over his face." She sobbed. "I still have nightmares. Is that what happened to her?"

"Pretty much," Jim answered gently. "She was attacked from behind. He tried to tie her hands. His face was covered. Neither of us got a good look either. We have a vehicle description, but no license."

"He had brown eyes. I remember that," she said haltingly. "I didn't see his hair or the rest of his face. I never saw a vehicle if he had one."

"I'm sorry to put you through this, Mrs. Phillips. Did he say anything to you?"

"No. When he finished - he kicked me. I was tied up, beaten up. He walked away laughing. We were in a gully, and there was lots of brush." She took a deep breath. "I always thought he was going to come back and kill me. When he disappeared, I somehow got up and ran. I heard him thrashing around behind me, but I never saw him again. You know the rest."

Jim thought back to Deena Price's session with the artist. There wasn't much point in repeating it. "Thank you for talking with me, Mrs. Phillips."

"What happens next?" she asked. Her face twisted again.

"I'll write up this interview, and have you sign it. Beyond that, nothing. We could never prosecute on your case, so you'll never have to testify. You never have to tell another soul unless you choose to."

"If you can't prosecute, then why talk with me at all?"

"Fair question." Jim ticked the points off on his fingers as he spoke. "You've given me an eye color. We didn't have that before. Your description of the attack is so close to this last incident that I'm completely convinced it's the same person. That gives us a time frame. We have at least four women that are missing under similar and suspicious circumstances, but missing means we can't talk to them. You're the only link that makes it plausible to tie them together. Thanks to you, I know a little more about how he might be operating."

"So this guy is close by?"

"That would be my guess. The attacks are all near Cascade, which narrows the search. I can look for more cases and have a more concrete reason for asking. I think we can say he strikes when the opportunity presents itself, and he doesn't always succeed. We might find someone else like you. Every little piece of the puzzle is a huge step forward."

"I wish I believed that, Detective. I'd give anything to have that animal behind bars. He should never have the opportunity to hurt anyone else." She sighed. "I've tried to leave this experience behind. It's never going to happen, is it?"

"Mrs. Phillips?" Blair had slipped into the room. "Your girls are asleep." He knelt by her chair. "They're beautiful, you know. They are a living testimony to your strength. You've survived and brought something precious into the world. There's no reason to keep carrying the past with you, even in secret. You've moved beyond it."

"I'll think about that," she whispered.

"You can still talk with a rape counselor, even now," Blair said. "You can do anything that makes you feel stronger and whole."

She nodded. "You're very kind." She looked at Jim. "I can't imagine myself saying this, but I think I'm glad you came." She walked to her kitchen and returned with a small slip of paper. "I know there are rules you have to follow, but..." Her voice trailed off for a moment. Then she seemed to make a decision, and thrust the paper at Jim. "The other young woman? I'd really like to talk with her. Please give her that for me, and let her make the decision."

"Thank you again," Jim said. "Unless we can call someone for you, we'll show ourselves out." She shook her head. They were on the porch steps when they heard her call them back. She met them at the doorway.

"Detective, I can't identify his face, but there was something about the way he moved. I can't explain it, but I see it in my dreams. If I ever saw him again, I think I'd know if it was him." She looked at them intently. "Actually, I'm sure I would know."

Jim nodded. "I feel the same way. If I think I'm close, I won't forget. You'll be the first one I call."

&&&&

Neither man felt very talkative on the way back to Cascade. Both of them knew the reality. They'd successfully tracked their only lead, but it was another dead end.

"Jim, did we accomplish anything?" Blair finally asked. "I only heard bits and pieces."

"Yes and no," Jim answered thoughtfully. "We can't prove it, but the method makes me think we've got the same guy doing both attacks. That's a start. If we throw in the other cases that have similarities, that gives us at least six or seven attacks, all potentially similar, all close to Cascade."

"One a year," Blair stated.

"Yeah. He's careful. If we assume Connie Duncan was the first, and Deena Price the last, it tells me he learned that the way to stay safe was to make sure the bodies were never found."

"So he doesn't just rape, he kills," Blair said with a shudder.

"Right," Jim confirmed. "Put together what Deena and Mrs. Phillips told us and we can guess what he's doing. He takes his time, looks for a lone woman in just the right spot. He strikes fast and leaves the area, does the rape and eliminates the evidence." Jim's face was grim. "Damn, Sandburg, I want to bring this guy down."

"We can't find him, Jim. We just don't know where to look."

"Chief, I can't live with doing nothing. I just can't."

"Protect the tribe." Blair thought for a moment. "Okay, so if we can't find him, we take a new approach. Lay our cards on the table and do community education. Drag all the concerned parties into cooperating, including Rainier." When Jim didn't answer, Blair continued. "I know it's not what you WANT, but it's better than leaving it in the unsolved file and walking away."

"I hate politics. I just want to nail the guy."

"Look at it this way. If we can't catch him, we can sure make it a hell of a lot harder for him to operate. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."

Jim snickered. "How profound. A man with your education doesn't quote a great philosopher?"

"You don't quote the giants of thought in a Ford truck. It's a rule. We go back and see Simon?"

Jim nodded. "We see Simon."

&&&&&

By the time they pulled into the parking garage, Jim had his plans in order. To him, this was just another mission with multiple objectives. "You know, Sandburg," he said before they left the truck, "I have a thought. I really need to talk with Simon, but I want you to go see Deena. Tell her what we've found out and what we have in mind. It's not just a courtesy; see how she feels about it. You okay with that?" He rummaged in his pocket. "You can give her Connie's phone number and address."

"Sure." Blair answered agreeably. "I'll run back over here to get you after I talk with her."

"Actually, I can catch a ride with a squad car. Would you go to the grocery store instead? The proverbial cupboard is bare. I'll spring for pizza as a tradeoff."

"Veggie with extra cheese?" Blair wheedled.

"You are so easy, Sandburg. Get out of here, and don't let anything happen to my truck." He watched his partner wheel out of the parking garage, confident that he'd have the time to pursue those other objectives he had in mind without Sandburg's interference.

&&&&

Simon listened carefully to what Jim had to say. The unlit cigar was getting a real workout. "As much as I hate to admit we're at a dead end, I think it's a good strategy. A public education campaign is the best outcome for all concerned. You know, the way this started out, with Rainier all up in arms, I thought it would be a disaster. We've actually established some great liaisons that we didn't have before. I think it will work." He leaned back in his chair. "We have plenty of people in the department with outreach experience that can head this up. I'll get right on it."

"Actually, Simon, I'd like to keep this a little closer to home."

"What?" Simon nearly dropped his cigar. "I must not have heard that right."

"There's a little more to the story. When you were doing all that tap-dancing with Rainier, did you run across a Dean Adkins by any chance?" Jim asked.

Simon thought for a moment. "As a matter of fact, I did. The guy's a real jerk, in my opinion. I ended up going around him to the higher ups. Why do you ask?"

"Remember that odd comment about Sandburg?" Jim's expression darkened. "Your radar was right on. This Adkins character is giving our civilian observer a bad time."

"What kind of a bad time? Doesn't Sandburg have approval from his side of things?" Simon asked. "We had all those details in order ages ago."

"Yes, but this guy Adkins apparently decided to review it, using the first panic as an excuse. Sandburg isn't giving me all the details, but basically he was given a choice between his fellowship and riding with me."

"Shit, Jim, we don't pay him. We'll lose him for sure."

"Get this, Simon. He's staying, or he thinks he is. He has to quit teaching and pay the balance of his tuition in cash."

"My God, Sandburg doesn't have fifteen cents to his name. Where can he raise that kind of money?"

"Borrow on a credit card. Sell his car. We probably don't want to know what else. I think he's planning on challenging the ultimatum, but in the meantime, that's what he came up with."

"That's completely crazy. I imagine you found this out by accident."

"You got it, and this is not going to happen, Simon. You know what an asset he is."

Simon leaned forward in his desk. He knew Jim too well not to be suspicious. "Ellison, what do you have in mind? Excuse me, besides eliminating Adkins in the middle of some dark night, which I know you're thinking and you are going to forget about as of this second."

"I don't know, Simon," Jim answered, looking at the ceiling with an innocent expression. "I think our young observer and the Officer of the Year would make quite a splash in public education. We do a few interviews, a little television time, maybe a feature with our old friend Wendy Hawthorne. In fact, I think Sandburg would damn near be a rock star at that kind of thing. He'd be an asset to both institutions, if you get my drift. I imagine if Wendy mentioned such an earnest young scholar was being forced to give up his fellowship - well, I imagine she might work it into the evening news at some point."

"Good enough for me to go over Adkins head again," Simon answered astutely. "How much time do we have?"

"My guess is a week, maybe two. I can even grit my teeth and be charming if necessary. However, I know how persuasive you can be, and the interagency politics is more your forte than mine."

"You are one devious son of a bitch, Ellison.

"We all have our gifts, Simon. We all have our gifts."

"Let me get on the phone. I'll put this on the fast track."

&&&&

The squad car pulled up to the loft right next to Blair. The truck was packed with grocery bags. Jim waved to his driver and surveyed the damage. "Shit, Sandburg, what if I had come along? There's no room for me in there."

"Well, like you said, we were out of everything." Blair hoisted a bag out and jockeyed for another. "Besides, we could have made you a comfy spot in the back. You could have been California cool - wind blowing through your hair and all that."

"Shut up, Sandburg. Only apes think hair is cool. Give me some bags and we'll take the elevator up." Blair looked at the cast doubtfully. "Come on, Chief, I can't pick them up, but you can load me up. I'll unpack while you get the rest."

It turned out to be quite a project. Jim could unpack about as fast as Blair could make a round trip. Blair was begging for his pizza order on every trip from the truck to the loft, but Jim held off. He and Simon had already put their plan into action.

"Okay, that's the last one. How long before the pizza arrives?" Blair asked.

"Haven't ordered it yet," Jim answered with a smug expression.

"Jim! I'm starving." He got no response from his loftmate. "Quit organizing the soup cans and answer me, damnit! No one needs soup in alphabetical order. You're not going to weasel out on this, are you?"

"Just delaying, Chief. We need to wait for Wendy. I promised her dinner."

"Wendy? Wendy Hawthorne? You invited Wendy to dinner? I thought you only met Wendy in public areas where there are plenty of witnesses and you can screen her for recording devices. Are you nuts?"

Jim closed the cabinet and turned to face his partner. "Yep, totally nuts. She's agreed to help us rough out our media campaign and make some test tapes tonight."

Blair stared at him, mouth hanging open. "I need to sit down."

Jim motioned toward the nearest chair. "Simon thought it was a great idea, and he's handling the organize-the-community-groups end of the deal. We're doing the rest. I want to go to the meeting with our end ready to fly."

"Jim, you hate cameras and you hate interviews. You would never volunteer for this in a million years."

"I don't know where you get these ideas about me being inflexible. I'm full of surprises." Jim handed him the pizza menu. "Call in our order."

&&&&

 _ **Two Days Later**_ ,/b>

"I can't thank you enough for this, Wendy." She nodded absently in return, her eyes fixed on the video monitor.

"We can tighten this shot up here. I want some footage of the other possible attack locations to splice in. Can you do that for me?"

"Sure," Jim answered.

She tore her gaze from the monitor for a moment and grinned. "I can't get used to the agreeable Detective Ellison. Growl a few times and I'll feel better." She concentrated on the tape again. "Okay, this it the one we made out at the greenbelt. It's the longest one, but when it's finished it's going to be fabulous."

Jim watched himself walking slowly along the roadside, flanked with green trees, explaining the nature of the attack. He was joined by Blair, who talked about precautions to take and who to contact. Jim never liked watching himself on camera, but Blair looked like he was born to it.

"He's really good at this, you know," Wendy commented. "If he's got this kind of presence for the camera, I can't imagine what he's like in front of a classroom." They both watched in silence as the next segment ran. Finally, the tape ran out.

"When's your meeting?" she asked.

"Tomorrow morning, nine AM. Can you have it done by then?"

"You underestimate me, Ellison. Stop by after the evening news. I'll finish polishing, and by then these spots will be good enough to win awards. When I get done, my station manager will be ready to hire Blair Sandburg, much less Rainier University. Leave it to me."

"Good," Jim answered, standing to leave, "but you can't have him."

"I know," she sighed dramatically. "I'll have to make do with the pleasure of jerking some fuddy-duddy around instead."

&&&&

Simon set the meeting up at the department, using the conference room reserved for visiting brass. Jim had noted with amusement that the surroundings were a big step up from the conference room in Major Crime, and the coffee was definitely better. When Jim had commented on the arrangements while munching on a cinnamon roll, Simon smiled wolfishly. "When I set up an ambush," he whispered, "I set it up right."

Simon wasn't the only one setting the stage. After some quick consultations between Jim and his brother, Blair was decked out for the meeting in a soft gray corduroy jacket. The rest of the outfit looked classy without screaming "brand new". Jim had been expecting the jacket, but Steven had thrown in everything else, right down to a pair of hiking boots that didn't look as though they had been to Everest and back. Blair looked every inch the young professor.

Jim grinned and looked over at Blair, who was helping out with the introductions as people arrived. When it came to making connections, Blair Sandburg was already a PhD. The contingent from Rainier included the University President, Dean Adkins, the Athletic Director and the Director of Public Relations. Jim wasted no time in zeroing in on Adkins. Simon had specifically included him in the invitation.

Simon was nothing but thorough. Besides Rainier, the representatives included a wide range of community organizations and social services. After setting the stage, he turned the meeting over to Jim, who went through his presentation - what they did know, what they suspected but couldn't prove, and what they believed was the ongoing risk to the community. He wanted to leave no room to wiggle. If an arrest couldn't be made, they had an obligation to protect the public.

Simon took over again, outlining what cooperation they were hoping for from the group assembled. Not everyone in the room looked happy, but Simon knew what he wanted. The detectives in Major Crime respected their Captain, but they rarely saw Simon function in the political aspects of his position. Jim was impressed. Objections were raised. Reference to the next budget cycle, and next year seemed popular. Sensing the need to pull out the heavy artillery, Simon popped in the tapes that Wendy had prepared.

As the room darkened, only Jim was aware that the door had opened and quickly shut. It didn't seem important, and Jim concentrated on Wendy's offerings. Her promises were right on the money. The finished products were eye-catching, informative and accurate. More importantly, she'd done a brilliant job seamlessly weaving Blair Sandburg and Detective Jim Ellison into one cohesive unit.

The lights came back on, and Simon addressed the group. "Ladies and gentlemen, that's what we have. Any comments?"

"I have a few, Captain Banks, if you'll forgive the interruption." The very feminine voice came from near the doorway, and all eyes turned that direction. Jim was out of his chair immediately. "I apologize for crashing the party, and I realize most of you don't know me. My name is Deena Price. I was the latest victim of this man. I'd like to introduce Mrs. Connie Duncan Phillips." Deena scanned the faces in the room. "Seven years ago, Mrs. Phillips may have been the first victim."

That statement shocked the group. She had their undivided attention. "I'm sure Detective Ellison and Captain Banks did all the right things and protected our confidentiality," Deena continued. "I assure you they had no idea we were showing up." She looked expectantly at Connie. Jim could see the tremors in the older woman's hands.

"Seven years ago, I was attacked and raped. I never told anyone, turned in my Rainier athletic uniform and part of my soul. In different ways, Deena and I are the penalty that is paid for not establishing an atmosphere where young women know how to protect themselves and know where to go for help." She looked down, fighting with her emotions. "We came to state that the penalty is unacceptable. We came to bring you one message. Not only do we expect you, as a group, to allow Detective Ellison, Blair Sandburg and the Cascade Police Department to do this, we expect you to help. We are here to keep you very, very honest. Can you find us some chairs, Detective?" She and Deena quietly sat down. "Please continue. I'm sure you won't mind if we stick around."

Simon Banks smiled. He could read a room as well as anyone. He was going to get everything he wanted, including Blair Sandburg.

The television stations rose to the bait first. All of them pledged to run the spots Wendy had prepared as a public service. They broke off from the main group to arrange a schedule. The group agreed to establish a central hotline for information. After some discussion, the social services people committed to distributing literature. Simon delegated one of the Public Information people to work with them. One by one, he worked through the groups until only Rainier University was left.

Simon was still calculating the right strategy for the moment when Deena Price hijacked the parade. "President Stephens, I know how the University works. You can make a decision right now and make things happen, or this can disappear into some committee forever." She looked at him expectantly. "I'm going to put you on the spot. You said Rainier would do everything possible. What does everything include?"

"We could certainly distribute literature through campus groups and the dorms," Stephens answered carefully.

"Why not at athletic events?" Connie Phillips asked bluntly. "You reach campus and community that way." When he hesitated, she skewered him. "Quit playing the image game," she said sharply. "You can downplay this and get more victims like me, or you can lead. Spin it to your advantage instead of making it your dirty little secret."

Stephens glanced at his Athletic Director and got a nod. "We can do that," he answered.

"Good." She eyed him sternly. "My background is in advertising. You probably don't want my advice, but you should take advantage of Detective Ellison and Mr. Sandburg. Get them in front of some campus groups." She took a deep breath. "Deena and I have decided to speak with them if they'll have us."

"Are you sure?" Blair asked softly.

"I'm sure," she answered. "No more skeletons in the closet." She turned her attention back to Stephens. "Give us a schedule."

"You make a strong case, Mrs. Phillips. We'll do it your way. Mr. Sandburg, how will this impact your teaching schedule?"

Blair froze. "Uh, my teaching? Well, uh...I thought...Dean Adkins..." he stammered.

Jim's attention was fastened on Dean Adkins. Heart rate went up, and the poker face with the insincere smile cracked. The bastard. He was trying to pull a fast one. No one even knew that Blair was being maneuvered out of his teaching position. Time to pounce.

"Actually, sir, Captain Banks knows my schedule. Why don't you, Dean Adkins and Simon work out any questions concerning Sandburg's participation right now, and Blair and I will coordinate with the ladies." The gleam in Simon's eyes had him struggling to keep a straight face. "I'm sure you gentlemen will have this ironed out in no time."

_**Epilogue - three weeks later** _

Jim fussed with his splint. It was annoying, but at least he could go back to wearing normal clothes. He grinned at Sandburg as he sat behind the wheel of the truck for the first time in a month. "Ah, back in the saddle again." He turned the key in the ignition. "It's music to my ears."

"I can't believe you talked them into this, Jim. You were supposed to have that cast for six weeks."

"I heal fast. They checked with an X-ray, you know. At least I didn't soak it off, like you said I'd do."

"Just think, Jim. You can drive. No more black plastic in the shower. You can put on your own socks. You can type on your own computer."

"Let's not be hasty," Jim protested. "That typing could really put a lot of strain on the bone. I think you should keep doing that for awhile."

"You are such a scammer. That is so lame," Blair laughed.

"At least you're going to be there," Jim answered. "Even though that little twerp Adkins backed off, I'd sure like to have a few minutes alone with him. Nobody messes with my partner."

"I knew it!" Blair threw his hands in the air. "You had something to do with it, didn't you?"

"No. You were there. Simon just happened to point out what a great asset you were interacting with the public on behalf of both the University and the Police Department. President Stephens paid attention. Just goes to show you that not everyone in the ivory tower is an idiot." He noticed Blair's skeptical expression. "Don't expect me to shed any tears that Adkins got overruled."

"It didn't hurt to have Connie and Deena breathing down their necks. Why do I think there was more to your involvement than you've told me?"

"Maybe because you always want to turn everything into a research project?"

Blair gave up. Jim would never tell him the whole story. He picked up the slice of yellow plaster that was perched on the dash board. It still bore Deena's inscription in red marker. "You know, Jim, I never figured you for a cast saver," he teased. He was a little alarmed when all the good humor disappeared out of Jim's face.

"It has a purpose, Chief." Jim's eyes never left the chunk of cast. Blair froze, not quite sure what was going through his friend's head. Finally Jim gestured toward the glove box. "There's a manila envelope in there. Get it out, will you?"

Blair complied and began flipping through the sheets he found there. "This is the vehicle search? Jim, there must be thousands of entries here."

"There are. I've gone through and marked all the ones close to Cascade."

"The red stars?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded. "We'll start there. We'll do a few every day, every chance we get." Jim took the remnant of cast from its resting place on the seat and placed it carefully back in the middle of the dash. "This is just a little visual reminder. He's out there, and he's close. I feel it. One of those trucks on that list is our guy, and I'm going to find him. I don't care how long it takes."

Something in his tone made Blair shudder. Sometimes the guardian had a touch of the predator, too. Silently he began turning pages, looking for the first red star.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story came almost a year ago. Many years after the fact, a local twenty-something published an account of her near abduction when she was running as a high school student. She was fortunate enough to fight off her attacker and get away. The police had no clue other than a large branch they found at the shoulder of the road, which was apparently the weapon of opportunity.
> 
> The young woman in Wyoming referenced in the story is, tragically enough, also a true story.


End file.
